The Other Holmes: Series One
by HexingHayley
Summary: How would gaining a third party impact on Sherlock and John's adventure's? With undeniable - even if unknown - ties to a certain smooth speaking Irishman just how long is the crime solving suburbia of 221B meant to last? Just who is the other Holmes? More importantly, can they make it in Baker Street? A series one rewrite - all episodes and a mini self-written one.
1. A Study in Pink - Part One

A Study in Pink: Part One

She stood back, finding it easier to let him work with plenty of space, her back came to rest on the storage cases for the other cadavers in St. Bartholomew's Hospital Morgue.

"How fresh?" Sherlock asked Molly, a Pathologist at Bart's who had nothing short of a teenage infatuation of the man in front of her.

"Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice." If that was the woman's idea of small talk she might as well give up now. She sighed internally, this was all so dull.

"Fine. We'll start with the riding crop." Sherlock's voice pulled her out of her mind ever so slightly. She felt herself grin as Molly went to get the fore mentioned tool.

"Any excuse to get the riding crop out for you isn't it, Sherlock?" He turned, registering her for the first time in about an hour, not that she minded that much, she was a big girl, and she could entertain herself.

"You're still here; I would have thought you had left by now."

"I'd be bored no matter what I was doing; at least if I'm within your proximity and I get into trouble I can say I'm working on a case." He tilted his head to the side regarding her slightly; sometimes she forgot that despite her age he was all rather new to this. He didn't say anything further as Molly returned with the riding crop. She resumed her pensive state, leaning against the wall.

-Break Line- POV Change - Break Line-

He was still unsure of what he was doing here, being lead through the corridors of Bart's – to the lab of all places – by his old class mate. John Watson followed Mike through a set of swinging double doors and was met by two people working. Well they were working, until they had entered.

The young girl (she couldn't have been more than sixteen, seventeen) looked up first, nodding at the both of them in acknowledgement, clearing her throat enough to disturb her colleague's – an older man, early to mid-thirties at a guess – concentration. He glanced up.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." The man asked quickly.

"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked.

"I prefer to text." The other man supplied without looking up from whatever he was studying in the microscope, "Come take over for me will you? This should keep you busy, for a while at least."

He seemed to be talking to the teen, this was confirmed when she abandoned the work at her station without a word and sat on the stool her companion had just left in order to do what she had been asked.

John thought he caught the glimpse of a smirk on her face as Mike shook his head slightly, "Sorry, mate, mine's in my coat pocket."

Without hesitation John went to the back pocket of his jeans, fished out his phone and offered it to the other man, "Er, here. Use mine."

"Oh." He sounded happy enough as he took the phone from John's outstretched hand, "Thank you."

"John Watson is an old friend of mine." Mike clarified for the other two, as the girl stopped what she was doing in order to get a better look at John.

"Nice to meet you John," She turned to her partner after a brief pause and continued, "What do you think, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"I'm sorry what?" John asked stunned.

"Where did you serve, Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man asked.

John looked at Mike for any sort of tip off, but he got nothing more than a smug, knowing smile. Getting nothing from anyone he decided to answer the question, "Afghanistan, but how on earth…?" He trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

A second young woman entered the room then, carrying a single coffee cup, "Ah, Molly, perfect thank you." Ignoring John for the moment the man took the cup and put it to his lips, turning away from Molly and back to the younger of the two women. She was still sat on her bar stool, observing the scene quietly instead of looking into the microscope like she was meant to.

"Are you sure I can't get you one?" John heard the second women ask the girl kindly.

"Thank you Molly, but no thank you." There was another pause. "You know the shade of lipstick you were wearing, it was nice, it suited you."

It was the first time John had heard the young girl say anything substantial, there was something about her voice that was so sophisticated, far beyond the level of any other teen her age, but then he reasoned, what teen would elect to spend their time in a hospital lab?

"I don't know to be honest; I don't think it was working as well as I'd have liked it to." The woman called Molly stuttered, looking at the younger girl.

"Not at all. I agree. It looked good, for instance without it on your mouth looks too small now." The girl's comrade commented.

"Okay." Molly said quietly. John felt quiet bad for the young woman as she turned tail and left the room dejected.

The remaining girl sighed, "Do you remember what I told you about at least trying to be nice to her?" John looked back over at Mike, a disbelieving huff escaping his throat, she sounded like a mother scolding her young child.

"I'm working; as are you, there shouldn't be time for 'nice'." She sighed again, rolling her eyes before looking right at John and apologising to him.

"I'm sorry about him," She rolled her eyes, "and he's meant to be the guardian of the relationship, would you believe?" So that was it, she wasn't an intern; she was in fact related to this man.

Disregarding the girls comment entirely the man asked off handily, "The violin, does it bother you?"

Realising that the man was in fact talking to him, John asked, "Sorry, what I don't…?"

"Him," The girl pointed to her relative, "playing the violin, would it bother you?" He found himself caught in her gaze as she focused intently on him, ice blue eyes boring into his.

"I play," The man tapped on the John's tiny phone keyboard, "especially when I'm thinking. We can both also become very reclusive, not speak to anyone for days on end. Would this be a problem for you? I feel it's important to get a person's flaws out into the open quiet quickly, especially if we'll all be living together as flatmates."

"You," John paused, looking back at Mike in wonder, "you told them about me?"

"Not a word." Mike chuckled honestly, that knowing smirk was back.

The man walked towards the doors, putting on a grey military style coat as the girl slid off her bar stool, grabbed her coat that had laid nearby - a fifties style beige detective coat – put it on and pulled her hair out from underneath the collar, her brown wavy locks swinging frantically as a result.

"I told Mike this morning that I – we – but primarily I, must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an 'old friend', clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan."

"In other words, it wasn't that difficult a leap to make." The girl concluded to the room at large as she headed toward the rooms only exit.

"How did you know about Afghanistan though?" They both ignored his question as the man focused intently on the phone, typing something again. "I've got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it, ideal for the three of us, just the right size." He went to make a quick exit when the girl scoffed.

"You left the riding crop in the morgue again, didn't you?"

He waved his hand causally in response, "Semantics."

"You did, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Oh gosh…"

"Regardless!" He pressed on; stepping towards John, brushing past the girl to do so. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. The flat, I mean."

John shook himself slightly awakening from his daze, "Wow, no, hold on, what? I've only just met you both and now we're looking at flats together?"

"Is that a problem for you?" The girl asked, to his utter astonishment John found himself smiling.

"Sorry, not to be rude or anything, but the three of us don't know each other, I don't know where we're meeting… I don't even know your names!"

The other man's eyes narrowed slightly and the girl was smirking again as the man said, "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."

John sifted his weight awkwardly, "All in all," finished the girl, "I think that's enough to be getting on with for now." They both walk out of the door without another word, only for the man to back track into the room a few seconds later.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes," He waved his hand in the direction of the teenager, "my niece-"

"Scarlett Holmes." The girl – Scarlett – gave him a nod.

"–and the address you're looking for is Two-Two-One-B Baker Street." Sherlock finished.

"Have a good afternoon!" Scarlett called through the swinging door as she too walked through them, following the man called Sherlock. The door finally halted again and John looked back at Mike, feeling shell-shocked, a term, considering his history, he didn't use lightly.

"Yeah, they're always like that." Mike said with a grin.

-Break Line- POV Change - Break Line-

"Well, I think this is going to go well, I like him at any rate." Scarlett found herself saying to Sherlock as they turned into Baker Street.

"Yes I do too. He's Ex-Army; he'll need something to give him that rush of adrenaline. He won't be able to cope with civilian life that well otherwise."

Sherlock then leant forward in his seat poking his head out of the window of the cab as they approached the flat in Baker Street. Getting out she heard him say hello, presumably to John.

"I'll pay then." She said as she too exited the cab, righting himself Sherlock turned back, and paid the cabbie.

"Hi, John." She ran her slim fingers through her fringe pulling it back over her head to remove it from her pale, sharp featured face. "Gland you could make it." She stepped forward, shaking his hand.

"Ah, Scarlett," He took her hand in his; she noted he had a firm grip. He let go and shook Sherlock's hand, "Mr Holmes."

"Please, call me Sherlock." Sherlock insisted as they all walked towards the door.

"It looks expensive, and it is being right in the heart of London," Sherlock continued, "but the landlady, Mrs Hudson, she owes me a favour. Her husband was on a murder charge a few years ago in America, I leant a hand."

John looked amazed, "You saved him?"

"No, he secured his sentence," Scarlett found herself saying, she turned back to Sherlock, "one day you'll have to tell me about that case fully."

"When you're older." He promised.

"I'm nearly eighteen, Sherlock."

"Nearly but not quiet, so you're still seventeen." Sherlock replied evenly.

She repeated what Sherlock had said earlier with a wave of her hand, "Semantics." She caught John looking and smiled.

The front door to the apartment opened to reveal a middle aged woman, "Sherlock, Scarlett!" She walked forward and embraced them both briefly.

"Dr John Watson met Mrs Hudson, our landlady." Sherlock introduced the pair.

"How do?" John walked forward and shook her hand, she smiled happily.

"Let's get you all in then." And they all followed her into the apartment and up the stairs.

When the door to the apartment was opened Scarlett went right ahead and sat herself down in her chair by the window. She took the time to watch John look around, "Very nice," He said, "very nice I think it could work. Once we de-clutter the place."

"This is our stuff John, we already moved in." Scarlett revealed.

"Oh..."

"Indeed." Sherlock, she could tell by the look on his face, was trying to figure out what John thought what was wrong with the apartment.

"What's that?" John asked quickly in an attempt bypass any awkwardness in the room. He was pointing to the skull on the mantel piece with his stick while Sherlock skewered a letter with a knife to said mantel piece.

"A friend, well, I say a friend..." Sherlock trailed off.

"Right."

"Well Doctor Watson, what do you think? Scarlett's got the bedroom upstairs, there's a box room up there as well if you'll need it."

"Actually Mrs Hudson, I'll be taking the box room, John can have the bedroom. I don't need that much space." She knew that Mrs Hudson had mistakenly taken Sherlock and John for a couple.

"Either way," Mrs Hudson continued, "I don't mind, next door is renting out to _married_ ones."

Scarlett shook her head in silent laughter at the openness of the woman. Her amusement only increased when she spotted Sherlock's vain attempt at cleaning the apartment in an attempt to appease John.

The older woman went to clean the kitchen after Sherlock had part way destroyed it the night before. She gestured to one of the chairs next to her, inviting John to sit, which he did after fluffing one of the cushions.

"So… I looked you both up last night… found your website, 'The Science of Deduction'."

"What did you think?" She asked John at the same time as Sherlock. They both gave him their full attention, eager to hear what he thought. She and Sherlock were very proud of the site, it had taken a while to prefect, neither of them liked messing around, both preferring to get straight to the point.

He looked doubtful and her face instantly fell, wondering where they had gone wrong. "You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."

"That's right. We could also read your military career in your face and leg, and what else?" Sherlock looked expectantly at Scarlett; he did so like to test her...

"And you're brother's drinking habits by the state of your phone." Scarlett concluded.

Before anymore could be said on the matter Mrs Hudson returned from the kitchen, starting to talk about three similar suicides that she thought Sherlock and Scarlett would be interested in. Which of course they were, but no one had consulted them yet. Well she said _yet. _

Scarlett happened to look out of the window at that moment and, spotting a police car she announced to the room at large, "There's been a fourth, but something's different this time."

Just then a D.I Lestrade walked into the room, obviously in a hurry, "Where?" Sherlock demanded of the man impatiently.

He instantly replied. "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens. Will you come?"

Scarlett looked at the Detective Inspector seriously, "What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get us if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?" Sherlock and Scarlett both nodded, momentarily forgetting everyone else in the room.

"Yeah."

"Of course."

"Well, this one did. Are you in?" There was a pause in which Sherlock considered the invitation.

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson." Lestrade answered Sherlock's question, he clearly didn't like that however and she caught him visibly grimace, she had to admit Anderson wasn't her favourite person either. "He won't work with me though, and I need an assistant."

"I'm right over here you know." She usually went on cases with Sherlock anyway, and she was anything short of his assistant, she was his understudy. Scarlett knew when he said assistant he meant someone of 'average' intelligence.

"You know that's not what I meant. We'll be there; we'll follow in a cab." Happy with this Lestrade nodded and walked down the stairs and out of the apartment.

"Finally!" Scarlett exclaimed as she jumped from her seat and grabbed her coat.

"I know!" She laughed as Sherlock actually jumped around on the spot and punched the air. "Four serial suicides and now a note! It's Christmas!"

"I'm guessing we'll be out late?"

"Of course, now come. John, you stay here, keep your feet up, have some tea, maybe a biscuit. I'm sure Mrs Hudson wouldn't mind making you one. Don't wait up!"

"I'm not your house keeper dear!" Mrs Hudson protested.

They both dashed out of the apartment, racing to reach the front door first in excitement. "He's not staying is he?" She asked disbelievingly as they got outside and stood by the curb.

"He better not be, hold on." She watched Sherlock dash back into the building. Only for him to reappear with John a few short minutes later. She yelled for a taxi, the adrenaline already taking hold of her system.

The three of them climbed into the cab while Scarlett gave the address, she sat opposite Sherlock on one of the fold down chairs. "Okay John, you've got questions I'm guessing." She asked after she deemed the ex-army doctor to have been looking out of the window for too long. She was far too impatient for her own good sometimes.

"Yeah a few now you mention it, the first being where are we going?" He looked at her and then at Sherlock.

"Crime scene. Next?" Sherlock replied.

"Okay, who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think we do John?" Sherlock asked already sounding bored.

"I want to say private detective..."

"But..?" He pressed.

"But the police don't go to…"

"Private detectives?" She cut in; slightly irritated that he wasn't picking this up quickly, "No, you're right. Sherlock is not a private detective; he's not the police either, obviously." Scarlett finished.

"I'm a Consulting Detective, the only one in the world. I invented the job. Scarlett here is my understudy." Sherlock supplied in way of explanation.

"When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult Sherlock and I tag along." She smiled, satisfied before looking out of the window.

"The police don't consult amateurs though." John stated bluntly. Scarlett couldn't help but be offended by this comment and she turned back from the window and glared at him.

"When I first met you yesterday I couldn't decide between Afghanistan and Iraq, when I asked you, you looked shocked." She told him tersely.

"How did you know?" John asked, puzzled.

"She didn't know, John, she noticed. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room gave the impression that you had previously worked at Bart's. So Army doctor then."

"You're tanned, you're face and hands at least, but when you passed Sherlock your phone your shirt sleeve shifted, revealing that you have a tan line. You've recently been abroad, but not on holiday, you were constantly covered." Scarlett continued.

"A bad limp that you forget about when you stop walking has to be partly psychosomatic at least. Meaning the original circumstance of your injury was – obviously – traumatic. Wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." Sherlock concluded finally.

"You knew I have a therapist." John finally said, slightly stunned.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist." Sherlock rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Then there's your brother."

"Hmm? What about him?" John asked curiously.

Scarlett reached out her hand towards John, "Your phone, may I?"

"Uh, yes, yeah sure." He handed it over quickly, clearly keen to observe more consulting work.

"Expensive, e-mail enabled, built in MP3 player – music choice could be better, the brother's I'm guessing? I doubt you would have changed any of it – and yet you're looking for a flat share? No, this was a gift then; you wouldn't waste your money on this in any other circumstance."

She handed the phone to Sherlock who took it, examining the charger port quickly as well as giving the phone a general once over. "Lots of scratches, all over, kept in a pocket with change and keys then. If you had paid out for such a phone you would have been sure to take better care of it. This indicates a previous owner. We know it's your brother because…"

He flipped the phone over to reveal the engraving:

Harry Watson

From Clara

xxx

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone." Scarlett picked up from where Sherlock had left off. "Not your father, this is a young man's phone. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not ones you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses - romantic attachment then. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away."

Sherlock carried on, "If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" The doctor asked more than a little bewildered.

Sherlock smiled happily as he handed John the phone back, "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuffs marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them."

"See you were right. The police don't consult amateurs." Scarlett said, feeling impassive.

"That was… amazing!" He exclaimed after a momentary pause in which she and Sherlock watched him nervously, their face simultaneously turned to one of surprise.

"Not, not many people say that." Scarlett said taken aback.

"No? What do they normally say?" John asked looking at her again.

Sherlock, who was now looking out of the window, replied for her, "_Piss off_!"

They all sit there for a moment grinning before John relaxed back into his seat asked the question she'd been waiting for. People always asked it in the end:

"So… What's the story behind you two then, you're his niece, I got that…"

"I'm not his niece." Scarlett interrupted, "We just tell people that, it's easier. I mean we already look alike so, you know if the shoe fits."

"So who…?"

"She's my daughter, John."

"D-daughter?!" The doctor spluttered.

"Adopted, of course." Scarlett tagged on quickly, she could see him trying to count the years back and that he was clearly finding it difficult to wrap his head around.

"Of course." He said stunned and clearly just as confused as before, if not more.

The cab arrived at Brixton, stopping in front of a building with a couple of cop cars.

"Just out of curiosity, did we miss anything?" Sherlock questioned John as he got out of the cab, "I always get it right but there's always a snag, something I miss."

"You did miss something, Harry. Short for Harriet."

Sherlock stopped so suddenly that Scarlett actually walked into his back as she headed toward the building, "Sister!" He shouted annoyed.

"Never mind, Sherlock, you can't get them all." She comforted her mentor earnestly.

He turned to her, "His sister, though!" He cried flailing his hands around reminding her of a child having a hissy fit.

"I know, I know." She said, patting his back and walking towards the police tap, "Come on then, John."

Sergeant Donovan was there to greet them and she didn't bother to hide her grimace. Sally Donovan couldn't stand either her or Sherlock and the woman's low I.Q meant that Scarlett rarely spoke to her directly on the grounds that she didn't want to be constantly irritated. This didn't stop Donovan calling her childish names and poking fun at her every opportunity she got however.

_Very mature for a woman in her mid-twenties to be making fun of a late teenager. _She often thought to herself, although she would always be content in the knowledge that she held the high ground.

"Hello freaks." She emphasised the _S _at the end of her sentence.

"The three of us are here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Said Sherlock shortly, he too had little patience with the woman.

"Why?" She knew why, she was just being awkward.

"I think he wants us to look at a crimey scene." Scarlett replied in a deliberately slow baby voice.

"You know what I think, don't you?" She asked as the three of them ducked under the tape albeit if John did so cautiously.

"Regrettably yes, Donovan." Scarlett called over her shoulder.

"I like the fact that you didn't go home last night. With Anderson again were you? It can't be that much longer until his wife gets back surely." Sherlock questioned, she didn't need to turn around to see the look of shock of the other woman's face she knew would be there.

Scarlett couldn't help herself, "And your knees Sally! Did you scrub his floors as well last night?"

The three of them entered the house, Scarlett rather smugly she had to admit, heading up to the crime scene while John put on one of those ridiculous plastic suits with the blue shoe coverings.

Once they were upstairs Lestrade looked at Scarlett, who was closest to him and then back over her head to Sherlock, "Two minutes, that's all I can give you."

"I need more, I'm meant to be teaching, how can I teach under such time pressure?" Sherlock almost sounded like he was sulking which made her smile.

"You're not teaching me." She said shortly, "I don't need teaching, I know most of it."

"Surprisingly most of you generation seem to think so, they are of course in fact wrong." He stated matter of faculty but in a slight sing-song tone that made her shake her head in amusement.

Scarlett looked at him blankly, getting ready to open the door to the apartment, "I'm not like most of my generation though, am I?"

"No," A genuine smile crossed over his features, one she rarely saw. "You're not... And I wasn't actually talking about you." He continued after a second as she opened the door to the room they were stood outside, "Come on John."

They all walked into the room as Lestrade filled them in, "Jennifer Wilson. Trying to get contact details for relatives through her credit cards. Some kids on the property found her, she hasn't been here long."

John was standing on the outskirts leaning on his stick but not complaining. She scanned the room, it was completely bare, and no one could have lived here prior to this woman's death. She was careful not to trip on the wires that trailed behind the portable lights set up by the workers as she went to lean on the scaffolding that held the roof up in several places.

The woman she observed - lying face down- wore practically all pink, a heavy coat, weighed down by rain, pink heels, sheer tights, immaculately done nails bar two, her fore and middle finger are both chipped and broken from where she had carved something into the floor. The message:

'Rache'

"Shut up." Sherlock shushed everyone, although no one had spoken.

Jumping slightly Lestrade said, "But we didn't say anything."

"Your thoughts alone are enough to put me off."

"Charming." John scoffed, Sherlock ignored him.

"Scarlett, come here." She did as she was told leaning down, automatically running her hands over the woman's coat, confirming it was in fact rain that covered her.

She left Sherlock to figure out 'Rache' - German for 'revenge' she knew, but that wasn't significant, a dying woman wouldn't waste precious time by writing that. She felt down the woman's body, pulling a beige umbrella from her pocket:

Dry.

She was in enough rain to get her soaked, to windy to use her umbrella perhaps? She wasn't soaked all the way through though, her blouse was still dry meaning at some point she had got in a car. Seeing as there hadn't been any rain in London for almost an entire day she must have been travelling to London from somewhere else. This was confirmed by the splash back on her right leg:

Travel bag with wheels, enough for one night.

She reached for the wedding and engagement rings on the woman's left hand just as Sherlock reached it with his magnifier, they both studied the mental bands. In contrast to the rest of her jewellery the outside was dirty. They both look at each other over the body, each knowing the other had the answer. This answer was only conformed when Sherlock worked the wedding band off of her finger and revealed the inside of the ring:

Clean.

Serial adulterer.

They smiled at each other.

"Got anything?" Lestrade questioned, almost desperate.

Scarlett stood up and smiled at him; she tipped her head slightly, "Not much."

She walked back over towards John and stood still as Sherlock got up and began typing on his phone.

"She's German. 'Rache' is revenge in German; I think she's trying to say some..." Anderson was saying until Sherlock gave her 'the signal'. She strolled casually across the remaining length of the room and slammed the door in his face.

"Better." Sherlock acknowledged.

"I think so."

"So she is German then?" Lestrade asked, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, not sure what to do with himself. Sherlock slid his phone away, satisfied with whatever he had found.

"No of course not." Sherlock said shortly, "She's from out of town though, staying for the night before going home to Cardiff..."

Scarlett scoffed at herself for not spotting it earlier, "It's obvious."

"Sorry," John said confused, "obvious?"

"Hmmm... Yes." She pressed her lips together, sucking on them slightly, creating a thin, tight line.

"The message though?" Lestrade pressed, "That's the whole reason I brought you both in."

"And there's me thinking you did all this just so you'd have an excuse to see me." She looked at him and smiled, which he returned after a second.

"I can cope with you better than him." Lestrade shrugged.

"Still. In. Room." Sherlock grit out.

Scarlett looked back at Sherlock who was pacing, waiting for all attention to be on him. "We know." She commented nonchalantly.

"The message though?" Lestrade asked again, she noted that he sounded more than a little bit stressed.

"John, I need a medical man's opinion, what do you think?" Scarlett could tell John didn't want to intrude any more than he already had and she watched as he silently asked Lestrade for permission.

"I'm breaking every rule letting the three of you in here, so go ahead, two minutes." She felt a tiny little bit guilty as Lestrade waited inside the rooms door frame.

"Because you need me." Sherlock stated simply.

"God help me yes I do." He looked around helplessly.

"Doctor Watson, you heard the man, two minutes. You should get looking." Scarlett gestured down at the dead women.

She watched him lower himself painfully down on the one knee, now level with Sherlock she heard him whisper, "What am I doing here?"

"Helping us make a point."

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent." John replied.

"Yeah, well, this is more fun."

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead!" John stressed.

She decided to leave them too it. She left quietly, sliding passed Lestrade who was waiting in the corridor, "Done already?" He sounded surprised.

"In a manner of speaking, yeah. See you soon, Lestrade."

"Yeah, see you Scarlett."

As she was leaving the house she made a point of asking those working on the property whether anyone had picked up a suitcase, she made an educated guess in saying it was most likely to be pink. No one had seen such a case, which frustrated her to no end.

She got out her phone and began texting:

'Working in Brixton, potential serial killer. Think he drove her here in a car. Victim left suitcase in vehicle. Suitcase missing, disposed of. Check all skips and bins in alley ways big enough a car in within a mile radius. Stay in touch.

Sc. Holmes'

She sent the message knowing it would get to the top three in the homeless network, who Sherlock had supplied with pay-as-you-go phones; she also knew that they would get the word out like wild fire.

She kept her phone in her hand as she ducked back under the police tap and came face-to-face with Donovan.

"Well if it isn't mini freak. Running from a crime scene are we? Not like you." She said nastily, she sounded like a spoiled ten-year-old jealous of another child.

"Not running, expanding the crime scene, seeing as you are too incompetent to search for a vital piece of evidence it's left to us." She added over her shoulder as she walked away, "Have fun scrubbing Anderson's floor again tonight."

She left a gob-smacked Donovan behind as she walked down the darkening street. Before she put the phone away she typed:

'All eyes out for the case, 1 mile radius, possible increase if nothing is found.

Sc. Holmes'

She hit send and knowing Sherlock would receive and read it in under a minute she began her own hunt for this mysterious disappearing case.

Her heeled ankle boots hit the dampening pavement with rhythmic clicks as she followed her charted course of all the back alleys in the Brixton area.

Having no luck as of yet in the search for the missing case Scarlett was deliberating whether to return to Baker Street when the public telephone she was just passing started to ring. She rolled her eyes, knowing that despite the late hour it was for her. She knew every phone like it she passed would ring until she answered one. So she just got it out of the way, walked into the booth and answered.

"What?"

A black, sleek car rolled up behind her, stopped on the pavement and waited for her with an open door.

"I could just walk away you know."

"You won't though will you." The male voice replied. Scarlett hated the fact that it was a statement and not a question. When she stood there smirking at the open car door, unmoving he got stern.

"Get. In."

* * *

Hi!

I'd like to welcome you to my new Fanfic! A Sherlock Series One Rewrite. Sadly, I don't own the show I do own Scarlett though. I would just like to point out that this Fic would not have been possible without 'ArianeDevere' over at Live Journal who has dedicated a lot of time to transcribe ALL the Sherlock episodes. I really wouldn't have the patients!

Anyway, please tell me what you think, I have the entire first season ready to be published so if you want me to continue comment and let me know!

Thanks for reading,

HH


	2. A Study in Pink - Part Two

A Study in Pink: Part Two

_"What?"_

_A black, sleek car rolled up behind her, stopped on the pavement and waited for her with an open door._

_"I could just walk away you know."_

_"You won't though will you." The male voice replied. Scarlett hated the fact that it was a statement and not a question. When she stood there smirking at the open car door, unmoving he got stern. _

_"Get. In."_

* * *

She obliged, knowing in the long run it would be easier for her. She slid into the vehicle, sat next to her was a woman attached to her phone. She didn't know a single member of staff of his that wasn't permanently attached to some form of device.

Tonight's assistant was blonde, "Good evening." She greeted politely without removing her eyes from her phone.

"It was until you all showed up, yeah." That finished any half-hearted, forced conversation between them, they drove in silence after that - just the way she liked it.

When they arrived - in a warehouse of all the places, he liked to act big she knew - he was stood there waiting, opposite a chair, leant "sophisticatedly" on his umbrella. One gust of wind and he'd be blown over, she raised her eyebrow in amusement at the mental image, saving it in her mind's eye to access it at a later date.

"Recruiting John didn't go so well then?" She asked him lightly as she walked toward him knowing this would annoy him.

"Obviously." Oh, he sounded irritated. Good - that would make rejecting him all the more enjoyable.

"So you thought you'd try again with me?"

"Think of the things I could get you Scarlett." He jumped straight to the point.

"The places you could be in a few short months, Oxford, Cambridge, St. Andrews. All yours for the taking, no fees or loans to worry about. All you'd have to do is tell me what he's doing." He said it without hesitation, knowing what he was going to say based on the fact that he had said the same thing about ten times already.

"No."

"Scarlett..."

"You don't owe me anymore than what you've already given me. I'm not going to turn on him for your gain. If you're that worried, bug the apartment, or you know, you could just ring him. That is after all the socially acceptable thing to do." She raised her eyebrows in earnest, nodding to herself as though agreeing with what she had just said.

Her phone buzzed, she took it out of her left coat pocket ignoring the man's argument and protests:

'How long does it take to find a suitcase?

S.H'

She instantly replied:

'Too long when your arch-enemy gets involved.

Sc. Holmes'

"Are you even listening to me?" She looked up at the man.

"Honestly? No, Sherlock is by far the more entertaining brother."

"Scarlett..." He repeated, "You're such a bright girl, good grades, intelligent, don't let that go to waste… let me-"

"-I'm not letting it 'go to waste'," She interjected, "Sherlock keeps me more than mentally stimulated."

"-I can provide you with a well-paid job, safe and out of harm's way-"

"-A desk job as a secretary? I can barely contain my excitement. Can you detect the sarcasm? I think you can detect the sarcasm."

He looked affronted, "I only have the best of-"

"-Intentions? Of course you do. It's just I don't care. We're done here, good night." She flashed him a false smile and left him stood in the middle of a pointless room as she began to walk back the way she had come, she didn't bother getting in the car. She wanted to clear her head of Mycroft's stupidity.

She was half way home when her phone bleeped:

'Got it.

- Smitty'

Excitement bubbled inside her at the prospect of getting to look inside the case.

'Send it to Baker Street along with the person that found it.

Sc. Holmes'

She got a cab back to the flat paying before she got out meeting Smitty and one of his fellow homeless companions, she was short, her hair tangled and her clothes worn and filthy.

"Ms. Holmes, I found it for you. It was in a dumpster about twelve minutes from the crime scene." She detected a slight northern accent in the girl's voice.

"Tell me," she asked the girl, "was this alley big enough for a car to fit through?"

The young girl nodded her head frantically, "Yeah, yeah it was!" She then proceeded to hand over the case; Scarlett wouldn't be surprised if the girl was a couple of years older than her.

She was right in guessing that the case was pink, alarmingly so in fact. Gripping the handle that extended upwards she dug into her pocket with her left hand and withdrew a wad of cash Sherlock made her carry for situations like these.

"What's your name?"

"Hazel, Ms." She was shaking slightly, her hand outstretched in wonder, Scarlett didn't even hesitate to press the notes into the desperate girls hand along with an address.

"Get yourself off of the street for tonight, Hazel. Tell them I sent you, they'll look after you, stay there as long as you like, most of the girls that work for us stay there anyway."

She looked like she was about to cry, "Thank you."

"Not at all, thank-you for the case. Smitty here." She handed him a further twenty pound, "Thanks for sending Hazel my way. Now, both of you, off you go, get out of the cold."

"Thanks Scarlett, see you soon." Smitty said smiling lopsidedly despite himself.

"I don't doubt it, I'll stay in touch."

With the case now safely secured she walked to the front door of Two-Two-One Baker Street, collapsing the handle down as she reached the inside of the door. She caught Mrs Hudson in her downstairs kitchen and said hello, taking an offered muffin before continuing to the flat.

"...Just met a friend of yours." John was saying conversationally as she opened the door to the flat.

"A friend?" Sherlock questioned, obviously curious.

"An enemy." John corrected.

"Oh. Which one?"

"The arch-enemy." Scarlett answered as she walked across the room, placing the case on the table in the kitchen – she walked behind John so he wouldn't see what she was carrying and freak out –before plonking herself in her chair opposite Sherlock while John still stood. She held the luggage label that she had removed from the case in between her cool fingers, rubbing it slightly as she read the phone number, a tick she was developing she noted.

"Do people have arch-enemies?" John asked bewildered.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock turned to the other man.

"Yes. But I didn't take it." He tagged on. Scarlett felt the corner of her mouth tug up. He was loyal quickly, despite the fact she could feel the slight anger in his frame.

Sherlock turned to her, "And you? You said he talked to you."

"Yes," she commented nonchalantly, "he tried to buy me after he failed at getting John on board."

"What with...?"

She looked right at him and her eyes widened in disbelief, "You actually think I'd take anything he offered me?"

Sherlock had the decency to look away. "No..."

_Yes._

"A place at Oxford, Cambridge or St Andrews if I wanted it, when I didn't take it he tried to offer me a job as a," she swallowed the word before she said it, dreading it and the image it brought to the fore-front of her mind, "Secretary."

"You as a secretary… His lapdog no less." Sherlock snickered like the five-year-old he tended to be in these situations.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

John interrupted them, "Just who was he?"

"The most dangerous man you'll ever meet and not our problem right now." Sherlock whispered dramatically. "However," he said with a sudden increase in volume that would have startled anyone else. "Scarlett the number, you need to text it."

"What am I putting?"

"'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.' Those exact words do not deviate in any way."

Texting with one hand Scarlett handed the label to John, knowing he was trying discreetly to read it as it now lay on her lap, her legs dangling over the arm of the seat.

He took it gratefully before staring dumbfounded at the tiny piece of card, "No, hang on... Jennifer Wilson... The dead woman?"

"Correct, have you done it yet?" Sherlock asked slightly agitatedly.

"Impatient tonight aren't we?" She quipped, "And... Yes, yes I have."

She looked at Sherlock as he stood from his seat, aiming for the kitchen table, it just so happened that the coffee table and the back of the settee were in the way blocking his destination, so instead of walking around like any adult normally would Sherlock just climbed over the obstacle.

"Sorry, one of you blacked out?"

"What? Sorry! No John, we're both fine." Scarlett reassured the man and she saw his shoulders relax again, _loyal quickly_ she reminded herself.

They both watched as Sherlock placed the pink case in front of the fire place, using two chairs to rest it on as to get a better look at its contents. As she had expected, clothing, underwear, toiletries, all of which were in varying alarming shades of pink, a few other coloured items to break up a bit would have been nice grey, white perhaps. Her eyes spied the novel resting on top of it all. 'Come to Bed Eyes' written by Paul Bunch, not that she had read it or anything.

"That's... Hold on, that's the pink lady's case. Wha- how? What?" He stuttered again feeling out of sorts.

"Yes, obviously!" Sherlock stated, he did so hate it when people stated the obvious, he rolled his eyes at the other man.

"Oh," he continued while he carried on his search through Jennifer's belongings. "Just so you know I didn't kill her." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I never said you did..." John replied slightly bewildered.

"Why not?" Sherlock shot back instantly, "Given the text I just had Scarlett send and the fact we have the dead woman's case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"You'll be surprised how many people think he does it sometimes. Even _I've_ been accused of murder once." Scarlett said conversationally as she got up to investigate the case herself.

With Scarlett up and investigating the case herself Sherlock decided to take his seat once more, his back braced against the back rest, feet on the seat, legs tucked up, his hands together in some vacant pray. His 'thinking' pose. Personally she thought he looked like a bird about to take flight, which he often did when inspiration struck, leaping around like a child on Christmas morning.

John limped over to a vacant chair in the living room, sitting himself down finally to rest his leg, "Okay..." He looked between Sherlock and Scarlett, "How did you get it?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens, killed her and then realised as he was driving away that the case was still in the car."

"Now if he drove away from the scene, which we know he did, it wouldn't have taken him, what? Ten minutes to realise his mistake. So that means he drove a mile, possibly less. In the house while you and Sherlock were looking at the body I got an APB out on the case. Which I acquired not five minutes ago."

John asked the only question that he could manage at that moment, although there were many, "He, you got that… he, the killers a man?"

"Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it."

Scarlett looked at Sherlock, "I was told it was in a dumpster twelve or so minutes from the crime scene, the ally was big enough to fit a car in so he would have been able to get rid of the case without being seen."

"Pink. You both got all that because you realised the case would be pink? So obvious, why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an idiot." John looked hurt at his words, even though he tried to hide it.

"Sherlock, do you remember that conversation we had not long ago about thinking before we speak?" Scarlett deliberately widened her eyes and gestured to John with a flick of her head, Sherlock turned to see the dejected look on their new companions face.

"Oh don't worry John, practically everyone is." He waved his hand in a casual manner returning to the matter at hand.

In an attempt to change the subject she asked John, "Do you see what's missing from the case by any chance, John?"

He turned to her; she could tell he was somewhat grateful for the life line. "From the case? How could I?"

"Her phone." Scarlett prompted.

"Where's her mobile phone?" Sherlock picked up her train of thought. "There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case."

"She worked in the media industry so we know she had one – that's her number there; I just texted it."

"She left it at home then?" John reasoned.

Sherlock repositioned himself in his chair so he was sat with both feet on the floor, he shook his head.

"No, she had a string of lovers, she was careful about it. She never left home without her phone." He stretched forward for the luggage label in John's hand, which he quickly handed over, allowing Sherlock to slide the paper back into its place on the luggage handle.

"So why did Scarlett just send that text?" John asked the room at large.

"Well," Sherlock said, "If the phone wasn't on the body and not in the bag then where is it?"

She watched amused as John's eyes widened as he cottoned on to what Sherlock was implying, "Scarlett..."

"Yes, John?" She replied sweetly.

"Did you just text a murderer?"

"I did, yes."

"Balance of probability, if Jennifer's phone isn't on her or in her case it must be with the murderer." Sherlock confirmed.

Scarlett's phone began to shrill out a section of Mozart, signalling an incoming call. She held it up for both men to see as the screen glowed:

Number withheld.

"A few hours after his last victim, he receives a text that can only be from her." Sherlock continued as the phone still rang out.

"If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." Scarlett said to John.

"Would panic." Sherlock finished as the phone trilled its last ring, the remaining bars of Mozart fading out into a stretch of silence.

Sherlock stood up, closed the case over and walked across the room with purpose aiming for his scarf, coat and the door. Scarlett stood and stretched, she hadn't actually removed her coat when she had entered the flat and as such the beige detective coat was crumpled somewhat. She smoothed it out before following Sherlock to the door.

"Tell me you called the police?" John asked hopefully.

"Four people are dead; there isn't time to call the police." Sherlock answered waving his hands around.

"Why talk to me then?"

Scarlett felt an amused smirk tug at her lips as she said, "Mrs Hudson took his skull." She waved towards the mantelpiece where she knew her Uncle had left the head.

"And quite frankly it's less weird talking to you in public than a skull." Sherlock added casually.

Scarlett headed down stairs knowing where Sherlock wanted them to go; she'd make sure there was a table ready.

-Break line - P.O.V Change - Break line -

John was following Sherlock down the street having caught up to him not moments ago.

_"…And I said dangerous and here you are..."_

It sacred him that Sherlock already knew him so well.

"Where did Scarlett go?" He hadn't known Scarlett that long at all but he didn't want the young girl to get hurt, it was dark and had been raining, god only knew what sort of things could be out tonight.

"Don't worry, John, she'll met us there."

"And where is there?"

"Northumberland Street isn't five minutes away from here." Sherlock supplied matter-of-factly.

They walked in silence for a moment; John became painfully aware of the sound of his feet and stick slapping against the damp ground.

"So," He started after a moment, "earlier you said Scarlett; you said that she was your adopted daughter... how... how did that happen?" John really couldn't picture Sherlock deliberately adopting anyone let alone a teenager. Then again he reflected, Scarlett really wasn't a teenager... Not a normal one anyway...

"It happened, that's all that matters." Sherlock said shortly.

"Yeah I guess, I mean you seem to get on well..."

"Yes, she's good company, we understand each other."

"She really is like you, you know." John could feel the conversation closing rapidly and felt slightly awkward.

"One would think so since I've been an interest of hers for most of her youth."

"I don't understand. Why would you be such an interest to her?" The doctor was more than a little confused as they continued to walk.

"Because I was asked to keep her close."

Yeah, because that made sense.

"Close...?" He probed.

Sherlock sighed, probably sensing the doctor wouldn't give up, "Her past is long and complicated, not that she knows it. She doesn't even know who her real family are, adopting her... It's a protection detail."

John was stunned by this revolution, Scarlett was born as someone else and she wasn't even aware? That was so sad, most adopted children knew at least something of their past. He reasoned with himself however that if she didn't know about her past and it contained something dangerous maybe it was for the best...

"Apparently she can never know who she was. It would place her at too much risk."

"Why were you asked to look after her? Why not a normal family? I mean no offence but from what I've seen so far the science labs, the crime scenes, the amazing intelligence she's not exactly being conspicuous is she?"

"I took her on because no one else could relate to her. Those whom looked after her during her childhood found it increasingly difficult to do so as she became an adolescent. I did warn them, I told them she needed to be mentally stimulated. They didn't listen. It was obvious she wasn't going to be normal like they wanted her to be. All you had to do to figure that out was to look at her parentage."

"So you know who her parents are then?"

"Haven't the faintest, just going by what I've been told, they're IQ scores were through the roof, late in life parents tend to have higher IQ's."

"This is difficult to get my head around so wait, hang on, let me get this straight... Scarlett wasn't born Scarlett, she was born as someone else. And she knows that much. She was looked after by somebody when she was younger that knew who she really was but when they couldn't handle her you took her on?"

"Correct."

They were nearing their destination he could tell, Sherlock's pace had slowed as they turned onto a new sidewalk.

"Right, fine. One more then I'll drop it. What's with the whole dad slash uncle thing?"

"She's legally my daughter so only I, as her sole guardian, can gain access to all of her files and so on. The age gap is too small to be convincing however as I was only fourteen when she was born. Her solution? She refers to me as Uncle – not that she does often – in order to keep up the pretence of a family relationship for the media if ever we're under scrutiny."

John was too stunned to ask anything else so they walked in silence for the rest of the way until the came to a well-lit restaurant. When they came to the entrance Sherlock gestured for John to walk in first.

-Break Line - POV Change - Break Line-

She was sat at a table by the window waiting for Sherlock and John, filling in the restaurant's owner Angelo in on the case while she also kept an eye on the house on the other side of the road from her position at the window table.

"The brilliant ones are always so desperate to get caught Angelo," She continued on with their conversation, "they want to be noticed, appreciated, they want applause."

"Mad men, all of them, I may have been thief while ago, but never murderer."

"No, you were most definitely not the murderer."

She smiled at the man marvelling at his foreign accent as the door to the building opened and Sherlock and John entered. Sherlock spotted her and walked over, John following before they sat down. She noted that Sherlock wore a pinched expression, one he usually wore when he was thinking about something deeply. She found it odd that he was allowing it to break through his usual smooth facial expression and decided to draw his attention away from his thoughts before anyone else noticed.

"Do either of you want anything? Angelo's made it free of charge." It worked and she watched satisfied as Sherlock was drawn out of his mind and was brought back to the present.

"That's very generous of you, thanks." John said looking up at Angelo for the first time.

"Not a problem for my two favourite people and their friend! These two right here, geniuses. Geniuses!"

"We helped Angelo get off of a triple murder charge a few years ago." Sherlock offered in a way of explanation.

"Wow, really? How?" John asked them.

"We proved that at the time of the murder he was breaking into a house. I quite enjoyed that case, it was my first one after I moved in with you Sherlock, remember?" She asked and a coy smile grazed her features.

"How could I forget the day a fourteen year old bombarded my peace and solitude, refusing me access to even a coherent thought?" He replied, although he was smirking slightly. "I'm fine thanks, Angelo." He added finally clocking the waiting man.

"I suppose that would be hard to forget..." She wore an identical smirk. "I'm fine too, thanks Angelo."

"We're going to be here a while, so you might as well get something, John." Sherlock commented in an off-handed manner.

Angelo came back a while later with John's order and a couple of extra things, both she realised were for her as the older man set them down. A chocolate muffin and a glass of what she knew was homemade vanilla milkshake.

"Ah, thanks Angelo. You really didn't have to."

He shook his head fondly, "All you girls with your diets and not eating, when all you need is chocolate, eh?"

"You know me to well. And I'm not on a diet, cheeky." She caught John looking at her with suspicion and she instantly knew she was being scrutinised by the doctor as Angelo walked away. "I'm never dieting again, I realised when I passed out at school that it wasn't a good idea." She jokingly added to reassure John.

"You'll start to look like a muffin in a minute, the amount of them you eat." Sherlock commented casually.

"Excuse me? I've only had one today and that was thanks to Mrs Hudson." He smirked at her knowingly.

"You know, one day your face is going to be stuck in a permanent smirk and I shall laugh." She taunted him.

A little while later Scarlett returned from the bathroom in the back of the restaurant and was heading back to her seat when she noticed the awkwardly tense atmosphere around the two men she had just left. She decided to hang around the counter and pretended to be talking to Angelo.

She still kept an eye out across the street when she heard Sherlock say hesitantly yet rather quickly, "John, um... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any..."

The young girl crossed her arms over the countertop, burying her head in the limbs, shaking her head slightly as her body began to tremble with silent laughter. She did feel so terribly sorry for the two men and their awkwardness. She looked up in time to see a taxi slow down outside the house they were keeping an eye on. Someone in the back was seemingly peering out into the street.

_Oh a taxi, that was good._

Why? She didn't know yet, but she bet Sherlock would have theories.

She walked back to the table slowly keeping her eyes on the street opposite, "Sherlock..."

Sherlock caught and followed her line of sight, "A taxi, why a taxi? Why is that good?"

"Regardless no one is getting in or out." She interrupted Sherlock's train of thought.

Scarlett was still looking out of the window, "Is that him? The man we're after?" John asked curiously.

"We're staring." Scarlett realised.

"Yeah..." John started to say.

"Well maybe we should stop, we can't all stare." Sherlock concluded shortly.

Scarlett walked around to the back of her chair in order to grab her coat while Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck and John shrugged his jacket on. The three bolted from the restaurant, Sherlock put on his coat as they went, her eyes never once left the taxi.

The male passenger spotted them as they stood outside the restaurant. Scarlett watched with narrowed eyes as the man leant forward in his seat obviously to talk to the driver as the vehicle pulled away moments later.

Sherlock started to run right after it not checking for other cars as he did so. She gasped as she ran after him, the car that almost ran him over honked its horn and still Sherlock continued rolling over the bonnet; he landed neatly on the other side of the car before continuing his chase.

To her complete surprise John quickly followed suit, bolting the car bonnet in pursuit of Sherlock. She decided to run up to the car, apologising to the driver through his open window as she ran behind the vehicle and down the street after the two supposedly grown men.

She's was almost there when Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, he must have realised that he wasn't going to catch the cab. She watched him as he concentrated, obviously thinking of another route for them to take. She looked down the street to where a man was opening his front door and she knew instantly what he was thinking.

She watched as Sherlock, only a few feet away shoved the man out of the way and proceeded into the building in pursuit of his target. She made an effort to help the man up - again apologising for Sherlock's behaviour - before she too was off like a shot, John she knew, running right behind her.

They all run up a flight of stairs on the building aiming she already knew for the fire escape. While Sherlock ran up the steps at full speed she decided to use both the railings in order to steady herself and then jump up the metal steps at least three at a time.

"There you are." Sherlock turned just in time to see her get on to the roof. "Come on, John!" He yelled over the side as the doctor still climbed.

She ran over to the other side of the building top spying another spiralling staircase which stopped on the floor directly below the roof, she didn't wait for Sherlock and John as she bolted down the side of the building, her feet barely making contact with the metal stairs, her heart pounded at the thrill of the chase as she jumped on to the lower roof of the opposite building. All she could think about in that one moment was just how thankful she was for the day Mycroft dropped her off at Sherlock's, ensuring that she'd never again have a normal day.

She heard the men behind her, right on her heels, she thought she caught Sherlock yelling something, whether to her or John she was unsure. As she ran down the new buildings fire escape stairs she caught sight of the taxi they were chasing and a new spark of determination shot through her, spurring her onwards. She jumped off of the building onto a dumpster when she was a practical distance from the ground, leaping form the giant bin onto the alley floor terrifying a homeless man as she did so.

She let Sherlock take the lead slightly so she could catch her breath, she glanced back while she still ran, spotting John not far behind her, a self-satisfied smile on his face. She wondered what he was seeing right now, a damp alley or sand dunes. She turned her head to face forward again just in time to see the cab turn left instead of turning right like she thought it was going to, annoyed she cursed her protests as she followed Sherlock in turning right. Scarlett knew the new route the taxi was taking was riddled in diversions and so they had time to take a shorter route and cut the taxi off as it entered Wardour Street.

"John!" She yelled for the doctor, knowing that he would instinctively want to follow the taxi, "Back this way!" She looked back to see him running after her.

They headed into more alleys and side streets, aiming to cut off their adversary soon. She was level pegging with Sherlock as he hurled himself into the busy street they had just run onto, she heard a distinctive thud as she watched Sherlock's body collide with the black bonnet of the cab. She ran straight for the passenger door as Sherlock flashed a police badge at the cabbie – Lestrade's she realised – as she tugged the door open with everything she had.

"Police!" She heard Sherlock yell right behind her as her breathing finally started to slow, her adrenaline spike lowering.

They both looked inside at the passenger and then at the case at his feet, she felt like screaming. She looked at Sherlock who looked just as annoyed and irritated as she felt.

"No." He cried, as though willing the outcome to change magically. "Look at him, Californian judging by the blinding bloody teeth and practically fake tan."

"Matches his suitcase anyway." She breathed deeply, trying to steady herself as she heard John run up behind them, "Santa Monica, LA. Just got in from Heathrow."

"First trip to London I'm guessing by the route and where you wanted to go." Sherlock asked through somewhat gritted teeth.

"Sorry," came the typical American accent, "are you lot police or not?"

"Yeah!" Scarlett found herself flashing a false smile at the man as Sherlock showed him Lestrade's badge. "Everything all right?" How on earth this guy thought she was old enough to be police she'd never know.

"Yeah thanks." _His_ smile was genuine at least.

"Welcome to London." Both she and Sherlock chorused as they simultaneously backed away.

"Any issues don't hesitate to let The Yard know." John tagged on in a friendly tone as he shut the man's door for him.

Once she was a little ways down the road Scarlett felt her body double over as she gasped for air while Sherlock who stood next to her panted heavily, annoyed as John walked up to them.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down." John stated slightly amused.

"Basically." Sherlock muttered as he grimaced.

"Not the murderer." John added.

For the briefest of moments she saw red as she straightened up, it wasn't directed at John though, rather her own stupidity, she felt her teeth grit together as she answered, "No."

She looked over to Sherlock with a bit of a smirk, "When Lestrade finds out you nicked his badge again he is going to be so pissed."

He shrugged in response, "Please, he'll only replace it… again."

They both turned to John who was giggling to himself, "What is it?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"You two: 'Welcome to London!'"

They all laughed as they looked down the road where the cab still had yet to continue on its journey, "Um, Sherlock…"

"Yes, Scarlett?"

"I think running would be a good idea." She concluded as the men spotted what had caught her eye; a policeman was talking to the American in the cab, asking him most likely why the taxi had stopped.

"I agree." With that the three were running off again heading for the flat in Baker Street.

* * *

_Hi,_

_So, here's the second part of 'A Study in Pink' I would like to thank 'Potter4life01' for being my first follower. Again I would like to thank __'ArianeDevere' over at LiveJournal for transcribing this episode. Without her this would not have been possible._

_I am happy to continue but I really would like some reviews, please. :-)_

_Your devoted writer,_

_HH_


	3. A Study in Pink - Part Three

A Study in Pink: Part Three

"_Um, Sherlock…"_

"_Yes Scarlett?"_

"_I think running would be a good idea." She concluded as the men spotted what had caught her eye; a policeman was talking to the American in the cab, asking him most likely why the taxi stopped._

"_I agree." With that the three were running off again heading for the flat in Baker Street._

* * *

None of them stopped running until they reached the safety of Baker Street, the three of them bolting for the front door. Once inside Scarlett joined John in leaning on the banister at the bottom of the stairs, while Sherlock began to remove his coat.

"Okay, that was ridiculous." He was still panting as he continued, "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done." John gasped

Scarlett couldn't help but snort breathlessly as Sherlock reasoned, "And you invaded Afghanistan."

The three considered this and all began to laugh again while she received a reply from a text she sent while they were running back to the flat.

"Yes, because I invaded Afghanistan all on my own." John giggled, while Sherlock's eyebrows rose in amusement.

"No, no of course not." He chuckled.

"Mrs Hudson!" Scarlett called into their land lady's flat, "John will be taking that bedroom!"

John turned to her, "And how can you be so sure?" Her breath became more even as Scarlett stood up and headed for the front door as the doorbell rang.

"Because we both left something in the restaurant." She gestured for John to open the door.

John looked confused as he opened the door to reveal Angelo. She giggled as John's features became stunned. Angelo was there holding his walking stick and her muffin, no, two muffins.

"Angelo, you star you!" She brushed passed John to grab the muffins. "Thanks, I love these things."

"You are welcome my young friend. This is yours I believe?" The restaurant owner asked looking at John, who was still stood there in shocked surprise.

"Scarlett texted me not too long ago, asking me to bring it for you." John looked at her and then back to Angelo, she just smiled.

"Er, thank you. Thank you very much." Angelo nodded happily walking away from the front door as John finally decided to shut it.

Just as the door shut Mrs Hudson rushed out of her living room in a state of tears, she stopped next to Scarlett encircling the young girl in her arms. While Scarlett, who was frankly stunned, rubbed her back trying to sooth her, "Mrs Hudson, what's wrong?"

The land lady pulled away from Scarlett, "I'm worried about what will happen to you, dear!" She sobbed and Scarlett, starting to worry looked at Sherlock and John, eyes wide in alarm, unsure of what to do.

Before any of them could ask anything else she continued to cry, "Oh Sherlock, what have you done? If they find anything then you know full well Scarlett will have to go back to Myc-"

"Mrs Hudson?!" Scarlett interrupted quickly, desperate to know what had happened.

"Up-up stairs…" The three of them bolted up the stairs, determined to see what had gotten Mrs Hudson in such a state. Whatever it was it couldn't be good if she was worried about the outcome for Scarlett.

Sherlock threw open the door to the their living room to find Detective Inspector Lestrade sitting casually in the middle of the room while several people riffled through Sherlock and Scarlett's personal belongings. Scarlett watched wide-eyed as she realised what they were doing, she vaguely registered Sherlock storm over to the D.I while she and John just stood stuck on the outskirts of the room.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded.

"Well, I'm not stupid; I knew you'd find the case." Lestrade stated smugly.

"You can't just break into my flat!"

"You're withholding evidence. And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well it looks like you have!"

"Don't be silly Sherlock," Lestrade started as he looked around at his team trying to portray the picture of innocence, "this is a drugs bust."

Scarlett felt her eyes widen and suddenly understood Mrs Hudson's distress while John was saying disbelievingly, "Seriously?! This guy: a junkie?! Have you met him?!"

Sherlock walked closer to John and herself as they still stood on the outskirts of the room. "John..." Sherlock cautioned.

John however kept on talking to Lestrade, adamant that Sherlock wasn't a junkie. She just hoped that they didn't check the false back to the kitchen cupboard. That was where they kept a sample of drugs for reference when they worked on drug cartel based cases.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." John defended Sherlock adamantly.

"John, please stop talking." Scarlett asked, her voice becoming slightly higher in pitch, Sherlock noticed and turned his attention to her.

"Yeah, but come on..." John looked at her, then at Sherlock, before he registered the seriousness of their gaze. "No. Really? You?" John asked Sherlock looking back at him.

"What?" Sherlock asked defensively.

"Sherlock? Please." She didn't care if he was clean or not, she just hated the idea of legal custody of herself being taken from Sherlock and given to back to Mycroft. It actually made her feel ill.

"Scarlett." He said sharply, they looked at each other for a moment. "I wouldn't do that. We have too much too lose." He turned and flailed his arms around, "They're just trying to prove a point. I promise." He held her gaze, desperate for her to believe him.

She nodded eagerly, "Yeah, yeah of course they are."

He sighed and turned back to Lestrade, "You can stop you know, I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No," Lestrade commented, "Anderson's my sniffer dog." He gestured towards the kitchen. Scarlett walked towards the shut kitchen door, sliding it open to reveal four more team members, two of them Anderson and Donavan.

"Anderson!" She shouted angrily, "What the hell are you doing here? You're forensics, not the bloody drugs department!"

"Oh I know," Scarlett just wanted to punch that smirk right off of his stupid face, "I volunteered…" He sounded so sinister that she actually took a couple of steps back as Donovan walked out of the room holding one of Scarlett's latest experiments.

"None of them are. They're all willing volunteers." She looked back over her shoulder in disgust at Lestrade while Sherlock and John still stood there. Sherlock was clearly seething and John was looking more than a little confused at the item Donovan held in her manicured hand.

"Boss," the young sergeant said, "have you seen this? Are they eyes?!"

"Yes! And you have to put the back before you ruin my experiment!" Scarlett went to grab the jar, but Donovan, ever the antagonist pulled them out of her reach.

"They were in the microwave!"

"I know. I put them there. Put them back!"

"Sociopaths…" Anderson muttered and she shot him a death glare.

"Donovan, put them back. The rest of you, keep looking!" Lestrade called, Scarlett walked back to Sherlock and John feeling more than a little annoyed, "Or you know," Lestrade continued, "you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

"This is childish." Sherlock said annoyed as he looked around the room.

"I'm dealing with children; god knows how you got custody of her, Sherlock." He waved a hand in Scarlett's direction and right then she felt like hitting him.

"I didn't ask for her!" Everybody in the room stopped at Sherlock's exclamation, turning to her to see how she would react as her face quickly turned into an expressionless mask.

"You want the case?" She asked the room, "Fine. I just want you gone." The bloody police were always getting in the way. They didn't have time for this.

"Scarlett…" Sherlock tried to say something but couldn't, she just shook her head as she crossed the room to the table and picked up the case.

She knew Sherlock didn't mean it the way it had sounded, but the sheer amount of eyes on her at that moment were enough to make her want to scream.

She walked back over to Lestrade, determined to keep glaring at him in annoyance as she walked with her head held high, the silence was deafening as she handed the D.I the case, "Here." She said, "Now get out."

She turned slowly glaring at the workers, particularly Donovan and Anderson before she finally exited the room. She still managed to catch Anderson say as she reached the bottom of the stairs to the next floor, "I told you: Sociopaths."

She sighed and sat on her bed when she got upstairs, looking around her room. It was small, but had everything she needed: a chest of draws next to her three door wardrobe, a small desk that she kept her laptop on and a wheel desk chair. When she was sat on the chair she could spin it around to view the wall behind her opposite the desk, today she decided she needed to finish constructing the wall.

She walked across the room and reached under her desk to grab a box that was full of photos, newspaper clippings, maps of London, string and drawing pins. She did this every time she picked up a cold case, bringing together pieces of information into one big picture to see whether she was heading in the right direction. It was a technique she had picked up from Sherlock.

Sherlock.

She just didn't know about him some times, one minute they were getting on like a house on fire, the next, they barely spoke a word to each other and the next it was like she didn't even exist. She knew that he was a sociopath, of course she did. She supposed on some levels she was too, but not enough not to register the emotions of those around her. Although that's what she desperately tried to achieve.

He was getting better though, she sighed in frustration as she realised that she had only managed to get a quarter of her wall built up, so much for finishing it tonight. She was about to start looking up online pet stores – there was a corner of her room that was unoccupied and it was starting to annoy her – when she heard someone rushing up the stairs, her bedroom was the only important room on this floor, unless you counted the airing cupboard.

Curious, she abandoned her laptop and walked to her door, opening it only to come face-to-face, to her surprise, with John.

"John. What's wrong?"

He looked up at her panic etched on his face, "It's Sherlock. He's only gone to play life or death with the murderer!"

"What?!" She demanded as she ran down the stairs after the frantic doctor.

"After you left, we managed to turn Jennifer's phone into a tracker, it was in the apartment. Then Sherlock left. So the police did to, thinking they were wasting their time, I was about to leave myself when I spotted the phone was moving on the tracking website we were using. Scarlett we need to go, before he does something stupid!"

She ran out of the front door, calling out to Mrs Hudson as she went, she slammed the door behind her in a rush. Together they managed to flag down a taxi pretty quickly, both of them scrambling inside.

"Who do we trust more than anyone, even if we don't know them, John?" Her breath was quickening, preparing her for the chase, only this wasn't a chase she wanted to be a part of.

"What?" John asked trying and failing to get through the Scotland Yard. She rattled off a number for him, knowing it was Lestrade's personal mobile contact, before checking Sherlock's tablet that John had brought with him.

Yes, just like all the others, if Sherlock was going to die then his body would be found in an empty building. She hurriedly gave the address to the cabbie, praying that they got there in time.

"No, look Lestrade…"

Scarlett gave John a look and he quickly handed his phone over, "Lestrade, listen to me. Sherlock didn't just get into a cab and drive off. He got into a cab and drove off with the murderer!"

"Scarlett we saw him get in. No one was in the back with him." Lestrade reasoned on the other end of the phone.

"Oh my god, Lestrade, I could punch you right now! That doesn't mean that he was alone. Did any of you stop to consider the driver?"

There was silence both within the cab and on the end of the phone as both John and Lestrade came to understand just who the murderer was.

"Look, I know where they're taking him, we're almost there. You're heading for Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Lestrade, hurry!"

She hung up the phone as they turned a corner, "Cabbies," she said looking at John. "We never know who they are, but we trust them, because we have too. Jennifer Wilson just got off of a bus; she didn't know the area, it was raining heavily: She got in a cab. James Phillimore, left his mate to go back to his flat to get his umbrella, didn't want to walk all the way in the rain: Got in a cab. Sir Jeffrey Patterson was last seen heading out of the train station towards the near-by taxi rank. Beth Davenport, there were no car keys on her body; we knew she drove her car into town that night, her colleagues told the police so; they took her keys to stop her drink driving: She got in a cab."

"Oh my god." John whispered eyes wide as the taxi stopped outside the college, throwing what she knew was too much money at the cabbie she dashed from the vehicle as she beheld the empty building.

"God only knows how long Lestrade will be, we'll have to split up." She yelled to John as they ran to the front entrance.

"Are you mad? There's a murderer around!"

"Yeah, and right now all his attention is on Sherlock. I'll be fine. See you in a bit, yeah?"

She didn't wait for an answer as she darted down one corridor looking for classrooms with unlocked doors. Sherlock wouldn't really risk his life would he? Was he that desperate to prove his intelligence? _Yes he was, of course he was_, if it meant Sherlock could out smart someone she knew. He would take any risk.

She ran down corridor after corridor looking for anything that looked out of place as she turned left into the newest stretch of building she finally spotted it: a classroom with the lights on, large and spacious with voices coming from within, one she knew instantly was Sherlock's.

She ran in just as she heard the sound of gun fire and she cried his name in panic, "Sherlock!"

Her uncle looked up as the cabbie fell back off of his seat. She ran forward towards the pair as Sherlock ran over to the window looking for the shooter. She was surprised; she had no idea that John had brought his gun with him.

She walked over to the cabbie to examine the wound:

Close to the heart. Internal followed by external bleeding.

He would be dead before an ambulance got here. Outside in the court yard she could hear police serein's. She had no sympathy for this man, he had, after all, killed four innocent people and she watched as Sherlock picked up a pill and demanded of the man who was writhing in pain, "Was I right?"

The man didn't answer, only turned his head towards her releasing a gurgling noise:

Lungs filling with blood and other fluid.

"I was, wasn't I? I got it right; tell me I got it right!" She was used to Sherlock's intense outbursts that only seemed to range from incredibly happy to intensely angry or serious. As he took the pill and lobbed it across the room she had to admit that even this was pushing it for him.

"Okay, fine tell me, your sponsor, who are they?"

_This lunatic was getting sponsored to kill people?! Great, just great…_

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you…"

She watched stunned as Sherlock took the heel of his shoe and rammed it into the dying man's wound. "Sherlock!"

She was stunned into disbelief; he'd never gone this far for information before. He ignored her call to him.

"A name, give me one. Now! You said someone was interested in my niece," Still there came no reply, only a painful whining.

The person that had hired this dying man was interested in her? No wonder Sherlock was angry.

"A NAME!" He demanded again, if she didn't know any better she'd say he was a mad man possessed, with one final push the man relented with a scream that made her blood curdle:

"MORIARTY!"

The older man stilled and she knew he was dead.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell that was about?!" Scarlett demanded as Sherlock headed for the door of the classroom, both of them leaving the cabbie's body behind.

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

Not long after Scarlett stood outside by the main entrance with John, an amused smile on her face as they both watched Sherlock get wrapped up in a pink blanket for shock, she could almost hear his protests from where she was standing as Sherlock walked over to Lestrade to talk.

"Thank-you for saving his life."

"I don't know what you-" John trailed off, knowing he couldn't lie to her.

"He annoys me to no end, sometimes it might even seem like we can't stand each other but really, I'd be lost without him… only, don't tell him I told you that, I'll never hear the end of it."

She looked up at the older man and they just smiled at each other. They both turned back in time to catch Sherlock watching them a look of realisation dawning on his face as Scarlett pointed subtly at the ex-soldier just to conform his suspicions.

He nodded and quickly ditched Lestrade making his way over, waving his pink blanket around to emphasis a point to Lestrade as he turned back.

"Pink really suits him you know." She grinned at Sherlock while speaking to John.

The doctor giggled in response, "Yeah, it kind of does…" As though he could hear them Sherlock disposed of the blanket through the open window of a police car that was nearby.

"Damn…" She heard John whisper and she had to fight to keep a straight face.

"Donovan was just telling us about the two pills and what not, not good Sherlock. Not good at all…" She shook her head in mock horror, although the idea of it did cause her disquiet she felt it best not to voice her concerns and mock the situation instead.

"Indeed." He turned to address John, "Nice shot by the way, we need to get the powder burns out of your fingers though. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case."

John looked nervous as Sherlock asked him if he was alright, "Yeah of course."

"John," she said gently, "You just killed a man, not a very nice man, but still…"

He went to reassure them when what he had done finally hit him, "Oh, god yeah, I suppose I have."

"An awful cabbie." Sherlock offered to try and lighten the mood and they all laughed, "I mean, you should have seen the route he used to get me here."

That was it; they all started to chuckle quite hard after that comment, to the point where Scarlett had to grip the wall behind her to keep herself upright. They began to walk away from the crime scene when John tried to sober up.

"No, shh, shh, we can't giggle at a crime scene, we're meant to be serious!"

She snorted loudly as the three walked past Donovan still chuckling and she threw them incredulous looks in response.

"Sorry, sorry," John supplied, "I-I think it's the nerves…"

"Yeah, sorry Sally." She sounded anything but sorry as she broke into a new fit of giggles.

"Sorry, it's the shock." Sherlock said sweetly.

As they walked away she did manage to sober up enough to hit Sherlock's arm.

"What?" He asked innocently.

"You know damn well what," she lowered her voice; "If John hadn't been there to save your arse you would have taken that pill!"

"Don't be daft; I knew you'd both make it! I was biding my time."

"Lies." She protested.

"She's right Sherlock, because as much as you think you know me, I also know you. And I know you'd do anything to prove that you're smart." John said.

"And why would I do that?" The consulting detective asked.

"Because you're stupid." Scarlett and John both chorused.

She watched as the smile on Sherlock's face grew, "Scarlett, I think I've found someone that isn't you that understands me."

"Yay! To celebrate lets have Chinese!" She squealed in fake childish delight. The two men agreed as they both ran into her back due to her having stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh great, and just when I thought this night was getting good…" She knew that Sherlock and John had spotted the car she had and the man stood by it.

"Sherlock," John said shocked, "that's him, the guy I was telling you about, your arch-enemy."

"Yeah," Sherlock said as they continued to walk forward towards the man, "I know exactly who that is."

"So," The man said as they came close enough, "another case cracked. How very public spirited… though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?" Scarlett found herself asking not so pleasantly.

"Now, now, as always I'm just concerned for you both."

"Yes," Sherlock said as he placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back ever so slightly, "I've been hearing about your 'concern'."

The gesture didn't go unmissed by Mycroft, "Always so aggressively over-protective. You're trying to look after her; I'm trying to look after the both of you. Did it never occur to you that we belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock sounded like a child, but then again, she reasoned, Mycroft only ever treated him like one.

"This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer... you know how it always upset Mummy." Mycroft sighed.

She pulled herself out of Sherlock's grip to join John to make sure he was following, "Their…?"

"Brother's? Yes. I'm afraid so." She answered.

"I upset her? Me? I wasn't the one to upset her, Mycroft." Sherlock protested as Mycroft threw him a stony glare, while John just looked on in wide-eyed amazement.

"You're getting chubby uncle; I forgot to mention that earlier." Scarlett commented from where she stood next to John, just a little ways behind Sherlock.

"Thank-you, Scarlett. I know for a fact that I have on the contrary lost weight." He replied irritated.

"The way you came in and took me earlier, I thought you were a criminal mastermind!" John cried clearly exasperated by the situation.

Scarlett's eyes narrowed as she looked at Mycroft Holmes, "Close enough…"

"I agree." Sherlock said, his eyes were also narrowed, she didn't have to look, she just knew.

"For goodness' sake! I occupy a minor position in the British government." The man protested.

"And everything else…" Sherlock added while Mycroft just sighed.

"Good night, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before we get home. You know what it does for the traffic." Sherlock said as a way of farewell.

"Yeah, bye Mycroft." She waved slightly as she followed Sherlock out onto the street. Although she noticed that John stayed to talk to the man some more, probably wanting more answers. It didn't take long for the doctor to catch up to them again however and they quickly began to discuss Chinese.

"I can always predict the fortune cookies." Scarlett proclaimed proudly.

"No you can't." Said John and Scarlett's grin slipped.

"Yeah, okay, maybe not. I almost can though. You did get shot didn't you?"

"Sorry?" John asked.

"In Afghanistan. You did get shot." Sherlock clarified.

"Oh, yeah." John said suddenly finally understanding, "In the shoulder."

"Shoulder! I thought so." The consulting detective exclaimed.

"No you didn't. You really didn't." John tried to reassure himself while shaking his head.

"The left one?" Sherlock asked.

"That was a lucky guess." John said as they continued to walk.

Scarlett couldn't help but sigh, "You should know by now, John that Sherlock doesn't guess."

"Yes he does, he must do. What- what are you smiling at?" John asked the other man.

"Moriarty." He stated simply.

"What's Moriarty?" John asked confused.

"I don't know yet." He said cheerily as he looked back over his shoulder at the pair of them.

* * *

Hi!

So that's the first episode done, yay! Welcome on board to SilverPoisons for following the story, shiningamigymnast13 for favouriting and a big thank you to The-Blind-Otaku for doing both!

As always thank you to 'ArianeDevere' over on LiveJournal, without you this would not have even have happened. I only own Scarlett Holmes, not the show 'Sherlock' (much to my regret).

I really do what to know what you guys think, so please, just the one review? It'd make my day… or night – I'm uploading this pretty late.

Thank you as ever,

HH


	4. The Blind Banker - Part One

The Blind Banker: Part One

That morning while Scarlett Holmes was getting dressed all she could see was the corner of her room that had nothing in it, just a low solid wooden cabinet, beige in colour to match the other furnishings in her bedroom.

She narrowed her eyes at the offending piece of furniture, "By the time I get back you won't look so boring." She declared pointing a slim finger at the inanimate object.

The cabinet itself was a new addition to her room, bought new last month thanks to a bank account that both Sherlock and Mycroft liked to contribute to. She hardly ever used it, knowing that Mycroft had access to her bank statements, but every now and then she would relent making sure to buy something practical.

Today she knew as she poked her head around the living room door to say goodbye to Sherlock and John, was going to be a day she relented, she just didn't know how.

"Morning, Mrs Hudson." She greeted the kindly landlady as she opened her shop for that morning's trade.

"Morning dear, sleep well?" She smiled whilst getting Scarlett's favourite breakfast muffin - banana and white chocolate - and a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Yes thanks, and yourself?" The kindly lady nodded happily handing over Scarlett's items while she went to pay with her card.

"Oh no dear, don't worry about it," Mrs Hudson reassured, "I'll just add it on to Sherlock's rent." They laughed slightly before Scarlett asked her if it was okay for the older woman to sign for a package that she would have sent home later that day.

"Only if Sherlock and John aren't in of course, I don't even know what it is yet, I just need something to go in the corner of my room."

"Of course dear it won't be a problem; you have a good day now."

"Thanks, you too!" She called over her shoulder as she placed her breakfast in her fabric patterned satchel.

It was cold outside despite the sun as buildings towered over her head. London had been her home for years, ever since she could remember, and she liked to think that she knew the city like the back of her hand.

She entered the underground nearest Baker Street knowing that if she wanted to buy something Piccadilly Circus would be the best place to do so even if she didn't know what she wanted.

-Break Line -Break Line -Break Line-

Over an hour and a half later Scarlett found herself stood at a counter in a brightly lit pet store with all sorts of animals squeaking, crying and barking in the back ground.

"Are you sure I can't tempt you with a bigger one? If you don't know what you want to put in it yet then you might need the next size up." The shop worker prompted.

"Uh, no thank-you, I think I know what I want in it. I just don't know where to buy one." She got her phone out and showed the young man behind the counter a picture of what she was looking for, she had had a brainwave on the tube ride over and she now knew exactly what she wanted, it was just a matter of finding one.

"Aw, no sorry love, those are one of the only animals we don't stock." He sounded regretful that he wasn't able to give her what she wanted.

"Never mind," she said with a smile, "I'll just buy the tank and everything else." She said gesturing to everything she had placed inside it.

"Cool, do you have an address you want this sent to?" He asked.

"Ah, yeah please, Two-Two-One-B Baker Street. My land lady's going to be there to collect it."

"Alright," He finished happily as she paid for her things, "everything should be with you by the end of the day, see you soon."

She said goodbye to the young man and left the store. She wasn't even down by the end of the busy street, walking passed a heaving cafe when her text alert shrilled, making some passers-by stare in her direction.

'Shad Sanderson Bank.

Tower 42, Old Broad Street.

Need you ASAP.

S.H'

She instantly hailed a cab, giving her destination and telling the cabbie that if he got her there within fifteen minutes instead of the typical thirty she'd pay him double.

Thirteen minutes later she was paying the cabbie and getting out of the car onto the steps that led up to her destination. She watched as men and women all dressed in tightly fitted suits walked up and down the steps completely ignoring the railings placed in for their safety. She shook her head as a man carrying a briefcase diagonally cut across her to get into the building.

She finally got to the top of the steps and entered the building via a revolving door, the ground floor was just a mass of comfy looking chairs, an expensive looking water feature and miniature tables. The floor was completed with a long help desk stretching the span of the opposite wall to the entrance with no less than ten women placed at strategic intervals along said desk.

"Hi," she said walking up to the closest receptionist, "I'm wondering if a Sherlock Holmes has been through this way?"

"If he has then he would have gone straight to the upstairs reception, that's where his appointment is being held." The blonde said after consulting her computer screen to double check.

"Yes, just go on up the escalator and he should be in the waiting area."

"Okay, thanks." The woman smiled brightly as Scarlett walked over to the escalator, she got on quickly, not walking up it as most people did, she stuck to the side so men and women could pass if they wished while she observed her surroundings, she was surprised as she noted that all of the doors she spotted had key card locks on them.

When she reached the second floor reception - which was practically the same as the floor below, just smaller - unable to see Sherlock she asked the woman behind the desk where he might be.

The receptionist, who also turned out to be their clients personal assistant led her down to the end of a corridor, before knocking and leaving her to enter.

"Ah, Sherlock, John, there you are." She smiled.

As she entered the room Sherlock stood placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her to the desk as the man she knew was the client stood to shake her hand.

"Sebastian, I'd like you to meet my niece, Scarlett."

They shook hands over Sebastian's desk. "Sebastian Wilkes, nice to meet you Miss... Holmes?"

"Likewise, Mr Wilkes." She nodded as her eyes swept quickly over the man; she noticed that he had been travelling a lot, twice within the last month at least.

"Christ Sherlock, first friends, now family, what the hell happened to you? You get hit on the head or something?" The man laughed.

"Yes, quite." Sherlock replied shortly as they all sat down. She smiled at John who nodded at her happily as she tried to ignore the tension in Sherlock's shoulders.

"I'm glad you could make it in at any rate buddy." Sebastian addressed Sherlock. "We've had a break in."

He led the three of them out of the room and across a large trading floor to a locked office which Sebastian opened with a key card, "This office belonged to the late Sir William Shad, the banks former Chairman, we left it as it is as a sort of uh, memorial if you will."

"What could anyone want to steal from a dead man's office?" John asked, clearly intrigued.

"They didn't want to steal anything, just leave a message." Scarlett said her eyes fixed on the wall opposite the desk.

She walked towards the wall as Sherlock touched part of the message; it looked like someone had been meaning to create an eight but left the top open with a horizontal straight line above the opening. Another horizontal line was sprayed across the portrait of the deceased banker's eyes, although it wasn't quiet straight and the texture of the canvas had ensured that the yellow spray paint had run. The drips had dried in various vertical lines down the painted body of Sir William.

Once they had seen enough the trio were led back into Sebastian's office, while they were in there he showed the three of them time stamped pictures of the office they had just vacated from the night prior.

"This is the annoying thing," says Sebastian as he freezes the tape on a clearly undamaged office wall, "there's a ten second interval between when each picture is taken." He flicks between the pictures of the undamaged office and then to the next one, just ten seconds later, tag graffiti now on the wall.

"Someone broke into that office, graffiti-tagged the wall and got out again in ten seconds? Wow." She knew she shouldn't be but Scarlett was impressed.

"How many ways are there to get into that office?" Sherlock asked as he leant forward to get a better look at the footage.

"That's where things get interesting." Sebastian said darkly.

The banker led them back to the second floor reception area, where they looked at a computer screen that contained the layout of the floor they had just left. Every door on the plan was highlighted a different colour depending on its security clearance level.

"Every time a door gets opened in this bank, a log of it is made right here. That includes every walk-in cupboard and toilet. And look."

He tapped on the screen highlighting Sir William's office door log, there was an entry from just now when they had gone in, but apart from that the door had remained locked for the past couple of days.

"That door hasn't been opened in ages." John commented.

Sebastian nodded at him, "There's a hole in our security. As long as you keep quiet and find it we'll pay you – five figures."

Scarlett felt her eyes widen, _five figures? This must mean a lot to the bank._

Sebastian reached into his inside breast pocket, "Here, an advance, there's more for you if you find the security flaw and tell me what it is."

"I don't need an incentive, Sebastian." Sherlock stated curtly as he walked away.

"Um, you'll have to forgive my uncle, he's irrational sometimes. I'll keep it safe for him." She said, her hand outstretched for the slip of paper as she rolled her eyes.

Sebastian nodded and handed over the cheque, "Thanks, we'll keep in touch, you coming, John?"

John followed her out of the bank as they tried to locate Sherlock. Once she spotted him a couple of metres up a head she started to speak to the doctor, "Here," she said handing John the cheque, "take this."

"Why are you giving me this, Scarlett?" He asked her bewildered as they walked side by side.

"Oh come on," she said looking at him, "you're an unemployed ex-army doctor currently living off a pension, which in my opinion should be a lot higher than it is. So have it."

"I-I don't know what to say..." He trailed off.

Maybe something along the lines of_, 'Well, that's my bills sorted then.' An even better one - 'Blimey, I don't have to worry about finding a job for a while.' _ She would have accepted both responses and any others he could think of.

"You don't have to say anything, John," she looked down at the ground, gearing herself up to say want she wanted but also preparing to run once she had. "You just being around for the pair of us… That's enough of a thank you." With that said she sprinted to catch up with Sherlock, leaving a slightly choked up John behind her.

Sherlock, it turned out was heading back to Sir Williams office to take pictures of the tag graffiti, she watched him do so as she looked silently around at the chilled, crisp office, something was bugging her and it was only when she looked at the blinds she finally noticed it.

"Sherlock, look…" Not waiting for a reply she walked towards the blinds covering part of the window-wall to fix the twist in one of them, only to notice a small door concealed by the vertical pieces of fabric covered plastic. She pushed the handle downward and it swung outward revealing a balcony they hadn't spotted earlier.

She stepped out and was met by the beautiful view of London, the gleaming buildings on all sides, the roar of traffic pulsing below her. Life was thriving, moving, racing below her and she soaked it up eagerly. Scarlett gripped onto the railing and peered over the edge to be met with a sheer drop that could have easily have been a hundred and fifty feet, probably more. She whistled loudly as she focused on the pavement below, wondering for the briefest of moments - as she often did when she was high up - if she should let go of the railing. A second later though she came to her senses and took a few paces backward across the balcony and entered back through the doorway.

-Break Line - POV Change - Break Line-

He heard her call out for him from behind as he continued to take pictures of the vandalised wall, but he didn't turn to see what she wanted straight away. When he did he noticed that she had left the office, but not to go back onto the trading floor. It was then he spotted the blinds, pulled hastily together and pushed to one side, revealing a balcony door. He put his phone away having gotten the pictures he required and walked towards the door to find her stood out there, leaning over the railing slightly as she drank in the view of London.

He heard her whistle as she stood there for a couple of seconds more before he watched her retreat backwards across the balcony into the office.

"Think I may have found the hole in the security, Sherlock. Although to reach it you need to climb over a hundred and fifty feet, if not more."

"I won't rule it out as a possibility." He promised her and she nodded amused.

A little while later they were trying to figure out from where on the trading floor that message could have been seen clearly. If anyone walked in right now he knew they would think them both completely mad. Well the traders already present on the floor did anyway as they kept throwing them furtive looks, but he didn't care. He never did.

As he ducked behind a screen he knew she would have straightened up from crouching by a computer desk. Then he heard it, so quickly he knew she was just talking to herself, clearly finding the situation amusing, "Marco..."

He felt an uncharacteristic grin spread across his face, one that only she could cause, as he ran in a crouch across the room past a pillar to view the office from a different position.

"...Polo." There followed her stunned silence as phones shrilled and workers talked and typed while she registered what he had said and then he heard her begin to giggle to herself.

This desk was the one he knew it. It was in a separate office, yes, but with the door open Sir William's old domain could be seen perfectly, no obstructions at all. Not to mention whoever worked here was head of trading with Hong-Kong. Meaning they'd have to be up at midnight, which judging by the time stamp on the security images - eleven forty-five in the evening - would mean the head of office would have been in and could have seen it easily.

He made a quick note of the name on the desk.

"Sherlock, what are we even doing, I mean, I know what we're _doing_," he looked up in time to see her gesture around as she entered the room, exercise clearly forgotten, "but why are we acting like ninjas'?"

He felt an eyebrow rise as she walked towards him and the desk, "It passes the time." He commented nonchalantly.

"It's just Mycroft told me you wanted to be a pirate, not a ninja." He heard her stifle a laugh as he removed his smart phone from the right pocket of his heavy coat.

"Did he now?" He asked as he straightened up and typed the man's name into google. 'Edward Van Coon' couldn't have been a common name.

He also made a mental note to get his revenge against Mycroft as well.

She sighed, clearly growing bored, "What have you found?"

"The man the message was intended for." He didn't say anything else preferring her to figure it out for herself. She looked out of the open door to the office opposite and then back into the office she stood in, he looked up from his phone quickly and watched her note the position depicted in the title on the door and the man's name on the desk they stood by.

"Oh, that's clever." She grinned at him as he saw everything click in her mind's eye.

"Isn't it just?" He replied, "What's more," he continued, "I have discovered where Mr Van Coon lives."

They both left the trading area a short while later, re-joining John by the escalators, who had been watching them on the trading floor from afar not wanting to get involved with their weird method of deduction.

As they descended John brought up something that he doubted Scarlett would understand due to the lack of context, "Two trips around the world this month. You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him. How did you know?"

"His watch, did you see it? The time was right but the date was two days behind. Meaning he's travelled across a date line twice but hasn't bothered to alter the date." He replied casually.

"How did you get the 'within a month part' right?" John asked as they stepped off of the moving stairs.

"Scarlett?" Sherlock offered.

"The watch was a New Breitling, the models new; it only came out in February."

"Okay, when did you get a chance to…? Oh... You shook his hand when you came in, you would have seen it." John answered his own question before he had even finished it. "So," he started again as they walked towards the rotating doors of the building, "what are we doing now?"

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors." Sherlock informed John as she kept her eyes out for a taxi as she walked down the stone stairs to the ordinary pavement, men and women still rushing about around her.

"We find the intended recipient and..." She heard him continue, he left the sentence hanging in the air for either of them to complete while she still focused on hailing a cab.

"...they'll lead us to the person who sent it." John completed for him as she finally caught a taxi on the busy street.

"Sherlock! John! I've got one, come on!" She shouted up to them in order to grab their attention and they quickened their pace to make it down the steps to the vehicle.

They all got into the cab, Sherlock giving the destination to the driver, "Three-hundred people work on that floor though. It could have been for anyone." John reasoned to the pair of them.

"But it wasn't, whoever it was for needed to have had a clear view of Sir William's office, and a great majority had their view blocked by pillars or screens. Why do you think Sherlock and I were running around on that floor like we were crazy?" Scarlett asked, looking out of the window and drinking in the view of London as it whizzed by.

"Because you both _are_ crazy people." John answered matter-of-factly.

"Thanks." She retorted sarcastically, although not maliciously.

"The time the message was left - eleven thirty-four last night - that tells us a lot." Sherlock interrupted them before they could continue. "Traders, now they work at all hours, so they come into work at different times. Hong Kong traders come in at midnight to work. The message was meant for one of the Hong Kong traders then.

Once the taxi had stopped they removed themselves and were met by a mass block of flats, there were a few stone steps leading up to the main entrance of the building that continued into the lobby of the apartment block. They stop just before the stairs looking at the buzzer on the wall to their left where they were greeted by a list of surnames. Van Coon was one of them. They walked towards it; Sherlock buzzed it once they reached it.

There was no reply. He tried again. And again. Still there was no reply.

"Huh. So now what, do we just wait?" John questioned.

"Oh… I spy a new label." Scarlett stepped in front of her mentor, nudging him slightly as she did so, so he was out of the view of the camera's lens that sat above the buzzers. She made sure to plaster a big grin on her face before pressing the buzzer to the flat above 'Van Coon'.

The intercom crackled slightly before the tenant's voice – Ms Wintle, according to the label – sounded out to them. "Hello?"

"Hello, Ms Wintle!" She gave a little awkward wave to the camera, casting her eyes downward in an attempt to make herself look sheepish.

"I don't think we've met. My names Scarlett Van Coon. Um, I live in the flat below you. Thing is I went to pick up my uncle and a family friend and I've only just gone and locked us out of the flat… without my keys." She made a play of grimacing in embarrassment and shaking her head with a sigh.

"I don't suppose you could buzz me in could you?"

"Oh darling! Of course I can, two seconds, alright?"

"Thank you!" She sighed in relief.

There was a buzzing noise as Ms Wintle allowed them in and she gave Sherlock and John a sly smile as she walked into the building. Sherlock nodded, inwardly impressed at his niece's cunning mind.

Fifteen minutes later and the trio were in Van Coon's flat Scarlett placing all of her weight on her left foot, alleviating pressure from her right ankle, "I can't believe you jumped." John scalded her, "I'll bandage it up when we get back."

"Well how else were we going to get into the flat without busting open the front door?" She retorted.

"You know the police would have just broken open the front door anyway, there was no need to jump from that lady's balcony just because this apartment's balcony door was open."

She scowled at the doctor, "John, you sound like Mycroft, shhh."

Edward Van Coon was clearly a wealthy man with money to spare, his chairs in the living room were leather and white and the tables in the room corresponded with black frames and clear glass panes. With very little clutter it was easy to tell that Van Coon was a much organised, efficient, if slightly dead man.

"If you go through that door over there," Scarlett gestured to a door to the left of where they were standing, "you'll find his bedroom and his body." She divulged to Sherlock and John, having already checked the flat before letting them in.

It didn't take long for the police to arrive accompanied by a photographer who took it upon himself to document everything. Sherlock couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face as the camera man blinded Scarlett for the third time as she stood in the way of evidence.

He watched as she pushed away from the insufferable man and his camera, passing a forensics officer in doing so who was dusting the bedrooms mirror for prints. He could hear other forensics officers in the flat beyond the bedroom door preforming similar tasks.

She finally made her way over to him as he studied the scene before them. He had has taken his coat off and was in the process of putting on a pair of latex gloves, John standing next to him.

"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money? I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys." John asked as he thought out loud.

"We don't know that it was suicide." He said evenly.

"Come on. The door was locked from the inside; Scarlett had to jump down to the balcony.

He squatted down next to a suitcase on the floor near the bed, opened the lid and looked at the contents within.

Scarlett must have been looking over his shoulder because she said, "He'd been away for three days, judging by the laundry."

He saw something she had missed, a deep indentation in the clothing inside the case he stood up only to crouch back down again this time with Scarlett in tow.

"Look at the case." He told her. She did so and it didn't take her long to spot what he had.

"Indent; something was tightly packed inside."

He stood up, making his way to the foot of the bed, "Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?"

"What, some sort of code?" John guessed.

"Obviously yeah." Scarlett said.

He looked closely at Van Coon's legs and shoes before he moved up and carefully opened the man's jacket to look at his inside pockets. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?" He asked after a moment.

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering." John hazarded a guess.

"Oh good. You follow."

"No." John replied truthfully.

Sherlock threw him a look before moving on to examine Van Coon's hands. "What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?" Scarlett prompted.

John frowned in confusion as he glanced back over his shoulder, "What about this morning – those letters you were looking at?"

"Bills." John told them with a shrug.

Sherlock gently prised Van Coon's mouth open and pulled out a small black origami flower from inside. Scarlett retorted in disgust as air hissed out from the dead man's lungs. "Yes." Sherlock concluded, "He was being threatened."

Sherlock could hear a man giving orders outside the room, "Bag this up, will you..."

John looked closely at the paper flower in the evidence bag he held up, "Not by the gas board. That's for sure." He said astonished.

Outside the room the man continued to give orders "…and see if you can get prints off this glass." He walked in then, a plain clothed police officer who looked so young he looked like he should still be doing his homework. Not hanging around a crime scene. At least Scarlett didn't have a curfew.

"Ah, Sergeant." He decided to play nice, offering his hand. "We haven't met." The young man didn't take it, instead taking a hand to his hip.

"Yeah," He said rudely, "I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

Sherlock lowered his hand, giving the evidence bag to the officer before giving him his best annoyed look. "I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock."

Sherlock looked at him unable to hide his surprise. This boy was far too young to even be in the police, let alone have advanced to D.I. rank. He looked at both John then Scarlett in turn to see that they too shared in his surprise. Dimmock looked around at them all staring, his eyes finally resting on Scarlett.

"You, girl." He said pointing at her as he walked out of the room into the living area. They followed, "Get out of my crime scene." He handed over the black flower in its bag to a member of forensics, "We're obviously looking at a suicide."

Sherlock was about to protest when Scarlett called Dimmock an invalid. He watched as the child D.I. turned to her and said, "It fits the facts."

She shook her head standing her ground, "Moron." She insulted him again, "It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." Dimmock looked like he was about to argue but she ignored him and continued. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" Dimmock asked mockingly, speaking to his niece as a normal person would a young child.

"The wound was on the right side of his head."

"So?"

"Van Coon was left-handed." She said simply miming a gun with the fingers of her left hand trying to get the tips to meet her right temple to no avail. "Requires quite a bit of contortion which I don't think would be possible."

"Left-handed?" He sneered at her.

Sherlock smirked at the look of utter frustration on her face. He could tell she wanted to hit him, "Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice." She said sarcastically, "All you had to do was your job. You know, look around this flat?"

"I'm sorry?" The D.I asked, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Scarlett essentially face-palmed, shaking her head in despair before she let out a frustrated breath. Sherlock took over while she attempted to calm herself down.

He pointed over to the coffee table, "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left..."

He then continued to walk over to the phone cradle resting on a side table, "Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on?"

"No," John said amused, "I think you've covered it."

"Oh, he might as well; he's almost at the bottom of the list." Scarlett said with a smirk her, head shooting up out of her hand. When Sherlock made a sweeping motion with his arm with an equally coy smirk she picked up where he left off, "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left."

She turned to Dimmock with an impatient look on her face, "It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head."

"Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts." Sherlock finished.

"But the gun: why...?" Dimmock asked confused.

Sherlock interrupted him, "He was waiting for the killer. He'd been threatened." He turned away starting to put on his scarf, coat and gloves.

"What?" Dimmock asked astonished.

"Today at the bank where he works." John answered, "There was a sort of a-a warning."

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in." Scarlett said to Dimmock.

"And the bullet?" He asked bewildered.

"Went through the open window." She said nonchalantly with a casual shrug.

"Oh, come on!" The D.I. exclaimed, "What are the chances of that?!"

"Wait until you get the ballistics report." Sherlock called to him, "The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Dimmock thought out loud whilst looking around bewildered.

Sherlock smirked condescendingly, slamming his hand into his glove, "Good! You're finally asking the right questions."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

When Sherlock returned from his meeting with Sebastian - which she had opted out of - he did not look pleased. The front door to the flat was slammed with a vengeance as he stalked in; throwing his scarf across the room and tearing off his jacket. Scarlett folded over her netbook after bookmarking the website she was currently looking at, settling herself in for a rant.

Seeing that she was ready Sherlock opened his mouth speaking quickly as he paced up and down. "Sebastian is a moron. Dimmock is an invalid. Why can't people just be intelligent? I mean is that SO much to ask?! For them to just engage the use of that muscle in those heads of theirs? For them to even have a logical thought?" He started to flail wildly, his arms swinging.

He finally stopped, pausing for a moment breaking into a fit of heavy breathing, "Dare I ask what they did?" She looked up casually to see Sherlock shaking his head in frustration.

"Dimmock filed Van Coon's death as a suicide and told Sebastian's chairmen who told Sebastian. Who told me when I said that it was clearly a murder, not to get side tracked from the job I'd been paid to do!"

His eyes looked pain filled from the amount of stupidity he had had to endure over the last couple of hours in their time apart. "Dimmock the dimwit. I know more than that moron could only ever hope to know." She sighed, "He filed it as a suicide to spite me after I showed off. Then again," She smirked as she thought about it, "he'll have to reclassify the case once the results from that ballistic report get back. There's no way in hell that bullet came from Van Coon's gun."

"I'll call Lestrade," Sherlock said irritated, "clearly someone needs to go back to school and be re-educated." He seemed to be calming down some and in the silence she noticed the absence of John, though decided not to comment.

Sherlock's breathing had levelled out some and he clearly wanted to be distracted, "Speaking of education, how are your irrelevant studies progressing?"

She smirked at him, she loved the fact that he classed A-levels as irrelevant, "Fine thanks. I've been in touch with Mycroft. I think I'm ready to sit the exams now instead of next summer. I just want to finish them and move on. Finish all this home schooled nonsense. It gets in the way. I think I could do them all in one day."

She crossed one leg over the other deciding that now would not be a good time to mention that she had been looking into university. He looked at her and nodded, "What was it you're studying again?" He still paced up and down clearly hyper, arms crossed behind his back as he thought about it.

"Chemistry, Physics and Biology. And I already have half an A-level in Psychology."

"What's the point?" He asked her, "You already know all that stuff from working on cases."

"Mycroft's orders, Sherlock. I signed a contract, remember?" He grumbled incoherently and she laughed, "Actually," she started again, "he's been helpful," Sherlock looked at her sharply, the idea obviously seeming ludicrous to him.

"He said I can do the exams as early as in a week's time and have the results by the start of next month. He said he knows people on the education bored. Big surprise."

"He's the government. Of course he knows people on the education bored." He finally sat down in his chair, "Will you sit them that early?"

"Yes, I think so. I'm thinking the seventh of November, there's usually a lull in cases at the beginning of a month. Then I'll have the results and certificates by the end of the month, start of September at the latest and that'll be that."

He nodded at her reasoning, "You've been planning this for a while." He stated.

"I won't pretend that the thought hadn't crossed my mind, no. Like I said, I'm eager to be done."

He merely nodded, "Well, if you're done with trivial things I need your assistance on constructing my new wall." He said.

"But of course." She smirked.

Sherlock set to work printing out the photographs of the graffiti he had taken earlier at the bank. He passed them to her so she could stick them to the mirror above the fire place. Now they each sat on a dining chair in front of the mirror staring at each of the photos.

That's how John found them when he finally entered the silent flat about two hours later. "I asked if you could get me a pen." Sherlock said to him as he made his way behind them. Her face pulled up into a teasing smile that the doctor couldn't see. He hadn't asked for a pen at all.

John, finally realising that Sherlock was talking to him and not her asked, "What? When?"

"'Bout an hour ago."

The doctor sighed, "You didn't notice that I didn't come back with you then?"

John picked up a pen and threw it with slightly more force than was needed she concluded as it hit her shoulder and bounced off, landing onto the carpet and rolling under the coffee table. "What did I ever do to you John Watson? For that matter what did that pen?" She asked turning in his direction.

He looked sheepish but she just shrugged, grinning, "You got the job then? That or you met a girl. No wait," She said, her eyes widened and her grin broadened, "Both!"

John didn't bother to ask her how she knew; he'd probably given up asking a long time ago. She knew he needed a job; she had been in the living room when his CV had printed out. She'd drawn a smiley face on the back of it – not that she thought he'd seen it through lack of comment - with the words:

'With my highest recommendations! – Sc Holmes.'

"Yeah, I went to see about a job at that surgery." He said as he walked towards the mirror to see what they had been up to.

She noticed that he deliberately chose to ignore the second part of her comment. Which made it even more obvious that it was true, which was only emphasised by his dilated pupils.

"How was it?" Sherlock asked him.

"It's great. She's great." John replied absently. She shook her head fondly at the man, of course she was right.

"Who?" Sherlock asked, clearly none the wiser.

"The job." John said confused as he turned to look at them, clearly unaware of what he had just let slip.

"'She'?" Sherlock repeated.

John, now realising what he had done back tracked. Poorly. "…It?" He grimaced.

Scarlett laughed silently at Sherlock's look of suspicion before he jerked his head to his right, "Here, have a look."

"Hmm?" John voiced.

She and Sherlock watched as he walked forward looking at the tab she had open on her notebook. The article shown reading, 'Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police'. Next to the heading was a picture of a bold man with the article underneath. They waited for John to partially read it the important details, like the fact that all exits were sealed from the inside like Van Coon's apartment.

"The intruder who can walk through walls." John said finally after reading the article.

"Happened last night." Sherlock was saying, "Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."

"God. You think...?" John said as he straightened up and she nodded at him as Sherlock said:

"He's killed another one."

* * *

Hi!

So here's part 1 of 4 of 'The Blind Banker'. As always I don't own 'Sherlock' just Scarlett Holmes.

Thank you to: FloraFaveXNara-Wire and Winged Winter Night for Favouriting this story

Thank you to: Snowy702 and sapphire-fires for Following.

I hope you enjoyed this! Please leave me feed back!

HH :)


	5. The Blind Banker - Part Two

The Blind Banker: Part Two

_She and Sherlock watched as he walked forward looking at the tab she had open on her notebook. The article shown reading, 'Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police'. Next to the heading was a picture of a bold man with the article underneath. They waited for John to partially read it the important details, like the fact that all exits were sealed from the inside like Van Coon's apartment. _

"_The intruder who can walk through walls." John said finally after reading the article. _

"_Happened last night." Sherlock was saying, "Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."_

"_God. You think..." John said as he straightened up and she nodded at him as Sherlock said:_

"_He's killed another one."_

* * *

It took much convincing on both Sherlock and John's part in order to get her in the cab and even more to convince her to get out.

"No. I'll stay here and wait, thanks." She had said when she finally left the confines of the cab. She was referring to the front steps of New Scotland Yard.

"Scarlett…" John tried to coax her again with a found sigh.

"No." She said arms crossed, "I shall wait for Lestrade to return thank you very much. Dimwit Dimmock makes me want to bash my head in." Sherlock nodded as his eyebrows rose seemingly agreeing with her.

"Come on, he's not that bad." John smiled reassuringly.

"John on a scale from one to Donovan, he's Donovan's husband. And they went and had Donomock babies that are so stupid they think Anderson is the new Einstein." She sucked in her cheek and began to shake her head at the horror of the image she had just created.

Clearly the image didn't sit well with Sherlock either as she spotted him shudder and let out a gasp of discontent.

John looked at her blowing out air from his cheeks in shock from her outburst, "Right…" He said slowly, "…okay. You might as well come in though, it's freezing, you'll catch a death of cold."

"I'll catch a death of stupidity in there." She said waving her arm at the building.

"Yes, but speaking as your doctor who hasn't found a cure for the common cold yet. I can revive you from an overdose of stupidity more successfully than I can a case of hypothermia."

"I'm good. Mycroft knows the cure for the common cold." She watched amused as John's eyes bugged out at this.

"No, no… no he doesn't." She looked up at him, head tilted as she smirked.

"Better to sell a load of placebo's that do nothing and make billions then to sell one magic bullet and have all the profits stop." She told him wisely, she over took the doctor on the steps of New Scotland Yard grinning at Sherlock as she passed.

"Well come on you two, you'll catch a death out here, and I'm not paying for placebo pills!"

In Dimmock's office she stood closest to the door, ready to bolt if his stupidity got too much. Dimmock meanwhile was sat behind his desk staring down Sherlock with a look of exasperation as her uncle showed him the news article from the computer John had read earlier.

"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat..." There was a dramatic pause for effect and then finally, "doors locked from the inside."

"You've gotta admit, it's similar." John told the D.I. as the man scowled at the computer screen.

"Both men killed by someone who can..." John stopped himself, maybe to see if he could phrase the next bit any better, seemingly unable to do so he continued, "…walk through solid walls."

"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?" Sherlock pressed and she was happy to see the man squirm uncomfortably.

"You must have seen the ballistics report by now." Sherlock sighed.

Dimmock nodded, "Mmm."

"And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?" Sherlock queried.

"No." Dimmock finally admitted reluctantly.

"No." Sherlock agreed leaning forward on the desk as he sat, "So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel."

"He's just handed you a murder enquiry." Scarlett said looking at the so-called D.I her head never left the wall she was resting on, "I think that warrants ten minutes in Lukis' flat."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

She followed Sherlock into Lukis' flat after ducking under the police tape at the bottom of his stairs inside the door, John and Dimmock somewhere behind them. She looked at everything as she went running her hands over the wall before walking into the living room. She was surprised to see a suitcase in the middle of the floor, open and abandoned. A black flower laid near-by on the floor like the one that was in Van Coon's mouth.

Books were scattered everywhere, open and riffled through quickly on the floor, haphazardly on the bookcase and piled precariously on the desk. The newspapers that she spotted in the room were in no better of a state. She looked out of the window in the living room and heard Sherlock from the kitchen say, "Four floors up. That's why they think they're safe. Put a chain across the door and bolt it shut; think they're impregnable."

He walked out of the kitchen back into the living room as John and Dimmock joined them. "I don't think there was another way in by the looks of it." She told them as they all looked around the room.

"Scarlett, don't be stupid, you're above such things. You know how the killer got in; you were the one to get it in the first place." Sherlock scolded her, when she looked blankly at him he pulled her into the corridor, up a couple of stairs so she could see the skylight above the landing.

"OH!" She exclaimed loudly, "I was right? In the bank, I got it straight away."

He smirked, "Yes you did."

Dimmock and John had followed them back out onto the landing, "Sorry, I still don't follow." Dimmock told them.

"You're dealing with a killer who can climb." She told them marvelling at the window. She stood on a footstool that was propped against the wall under the skylight; she looked out of the small window and beheld an angled roof.

"What are you doing?" Dimmock asked her.

"So they cling to the wall like an insect." She muttered to herself. She unhooked the latch of the skylight with a finger and smiled in disbelief. She looked at Sherlock, "I was joking, at the bank; I didn't actually… no-one could climb up the side of that building, especially that high up."

"Well, they must be able to because rest assured, that's how they got in." Sherlock said as she stepped down off of the step, allowing Sherlock to see out of the window himself.

"What?!" Dimmock spluttered in disbelief.

Sherlock turned back to Dimmock waving his arms, "Climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof, dropped in through this skylight."

"You're not serious?" Dimmock cried, "Like Spiderman?!" He asked sarcastically.

She went to stand in front of the wall next to John, "So," she began, "he scaled six-ish floors of a Docklands apartment building and jumped onto the balcony to kill Van Coon."

Dimmock laughed and looked at her disbelievingly, "Wow, ho-hold on!

Sherlock looked at her and said, "And of course that's how he got into the bank. He ran along the window ledge and onto the terrace."

She smirked and crossed her arms, "Sebastian is going to be happy." She said with a note of sarcasm.

Sherlock walked forward and looked around the apartment corridor, "We have to find out what connects these two men."

They watched as something caught Sherlock's eye, he jumped down a couple of stairs to grab a particular book that had been left open and abandoned on the staircase. His eyes fell on the pile of books scattered up the side of the staircase.

"We're going to West Kensington Library." He informed them before slamming the book shut.

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

Scarlett had skipped out on the trip to the library and had headed back to Baker Street to start the wall she had no doubt Sherlock would want to continue to construct. By the time the boys had returned she had stuck photographs of the shelf at the library that Sherlock had sent her in a message to the wall as well.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in." Sherlock said from behind her.

She could see Van Coon in her mind's eye, terrified, turning the lock on his front door and rushing panicked to his final resting place: his bedroom.

"And hours later, he dies." She finished.

"The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home." John began to walk it through mentally.

"Late that night, he dies too." Sherlock concluded.

"Why did they die, Sherlock?" John practically whispered.

She walked forward from where they all stood to run her fingers over the picture of the painting in Sir William's office. She focused in on the yellow slanted line across his eyes, "Only the cipher can tell us. We need to crack it." She muttered, she turned, her smile wide as she looked at the two men.

"Oh god." John complained, pointing dramatically at her smile, "I have nightmares about that face."

-Break Line- Break Line – Break Line -

She practically ran across Trafalgar Square toward the National Gallery, Sherlock and John coming behind her as she finally slowed down on the pavement. "Do you ever realise that our lives revolve around computers?"

"Million-pound security system's at banks, to people's pin numbers."

"Exactly!" She said nodding enthusiastically at Sherlock, "Cryptography inhabits _everything _in the modern world but…"

"Yes, okay, but..." John repeated wanting an answer.

"But it's all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different." Sherlock concluded.

"It's an ancient device so modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it." She finished.

"So, where are we headed exactly?" John asked looking at her seeing as she was the one that had bolted from the flat.

"…I need help." She said simply after a pause.

"Well, yeah. I know that." John nodded. She looked over to him as John walked next to Sherlock, wide-eyed and mocking offence.

"That," she said pointing at the doctor, "was rude. Did you hear that, Sherlock? The cheek of it!" She was smiling though.

"So you need advice on a painting?" John guessed.

"Not a painting, no. Just paint…" She said as they bypassed the entrance to the gallery and walked around the back, "You're about to meet a friend of ours."

When they finally got to the back of the building she spotted the person she was looking for spray painting the gallery's back wall, "Oi, RAZ!" She yelled at him making John cringe at the sudden volume change.

She walked forward and saw what he was depicting with his stencil, a policeman holding a rifle with a pig's snout for a nose. She finally got to him when he was tagging his name under the work, a big canvas bag at his feet holding loads of spray cans.

"Part of a new exhibition." He told her as Sherlock and John finally joined them.

"Interesting." Sherlock told them clearly feeling disinterested.

"I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy." Raz declared proudly before he chuckled.

"Catchy." John told him sarcastically.

Raz was still spraying as he said, "I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner." He looked at Scarlett, "Can we do this while I'm workin', love?"

Scarlett instantly took her phone from her pocket and scrolled through the photos of the cipher before handing her phone to Raz. Raz threw the can of paint he was using in the air and she watched as John expertly caught it.

"Know the author?" She asked hopefully.

"Na, but I do recognise the paint. It's like Michigan; hard-core propellant. Zinc at a guess." Raz replied after a second.

"What about the symbols: d'you recognise them?" Sherlock asked.

Raz squinted at the screen, "Not even sure it's a proper language."

"Two men have been murdered, Raz." Sherlock pressed, "Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them."

"What?" Raz looked sceptical, "And this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much, now, is it?"

"Are you gonna help us or not?" Scarlett asked him finally.

"I'll ask around for you, babe." He said after a moment.

Ignoring the comment Sherlock said, "Somebody must know something about it."

"Oi!" They turned to see a couple of Community Support Officers running towards them. She snatched her phone from Raz as the four of them split up and ran in different directions.

-Break line - POV Change - Break line-

When Scarlett finally returned to Baker Street he noticed she had a muffin in her hand, "Sherlock! I'm ho- oh! Hi!"

She looked at him sat in his armchair, beheld John in a clearly angered state and she tilted her head slightly with a sigh. "Right, who started it this time?"

John started to pace around the chairs attempting to physically vent, "Both of you actually." John replied tightly after a moment.

Sherlock watched Scarlett's face fall slightly, "I – what? John, what did I do?"

"Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?" He replied to her in way of explanation. Sherlock rolled his eyes; he had heard all of this already.

Comprehension dawned on his niece's face and she tried to bite back a laugh. They both watched John start his pacing again whilst he wore an angry half-grimace. "Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I've gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday."

"What?" Sherlock watched as Scarlett covered her mouth with her hand in order to conceal her smile.

"Me. Scarlett, in court on Tuesday." He put on a rough London accent, "They're givin' me an ASBO!"

Sherlock looked up from his work again as she heard her squeak to see a delighted sparkle in her eyes at the idea. "I thought you ran with Sherlock!"

"No, no. I was left with a graffitied wall and a bag full of spray paint." He said tightly, "So any time you wanna tell your little pal he's okay to go and own up, you're welcome too!"

Sherlock, growing tired of the conversation grabbed Scarlett's attention instead, "I can't place this symbol!"

"Then do something about it." She shrugged in way of answer. "Lukis' stuff must have been impounded by now, I could…"

"Yes. Good idea. You go and deal with Dimmock." Sherlock fake smiled.

"Hell no! Not on my own at least. You coming, John?" She asked their flatmate.

The doctor sighed, "What are we doing exactly?"

"Asking about Lukis." She told him, "If we get his diary then we can see what he's been up to."

Sherlock nodded in approval.

Scarlett was getting to the stage where she didn't need him to guide her anymore.

To distract himself from this he rushed down the stairs and out of the front door the other two following behind him.

"Right, so while John holds me back from hitting Dimmock, you'll be doing…?" Scarlett asked him as she got into a cab she had hailed for herself and John.

"I'm gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace Van Coon's and Lukis' steps, somewhere they'll have to coincide at some point." Sherlock told her, however she seemed now not to be listening as she focused on a point on the other side of the road.

He turned to see what she was looking at and saw the figure of a person walking away wearing all black, "Scarlett." He called her focus back to him.

"Yeah, you – Van Coon's office. Us – To see Dimmock. Got it." She said distractedly, "See you in a bit." She leant back in the cab seat and John told the driver to get going.

-Break Line - POV Change - Break Line-

Dimmock was stood at a desk rummaging through a box of Brian Lukis' possessions for them. John stood next to him whilst he noticed Scarlett avoiding the D.I.

"Your Uncle…" Dimmock started after moment. John grimaced, inwardly praying that Scarlett wouldn't do anything.

"Be careful." She warned as Dimmock looked at her.

"…I'm not going to lie, he's an arrogant sod. You're not far off either."

John watched Scarlett's expression darken in a flash, "He's not arrogant…" She stopped for a second and the sighed. "Okay, yeah, he _can _be. But if he seems arrogant then that's because you're being stup-"

"Right! Okay!" John decided to cut in and stop her from continuing before she got herself into trouble.

"Here," Dimmock turned to him, ignoring Scarlett, and handed him a journal. "This is what you want, isn't it? Lukis' diary?"

"Um, yeah, thanks." John replied to him. He looked up from the book with a boarding pass that was being employed as a book mark and glanced at Scarlett. Scarlett for her part was eyeing the ticket. He opened the diary to reveal that the boarding pass was for a flight from Dalian Zhoushuizi International Airport to Heathrow, London via Zhuang Airlines.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

Scarlett grinned as she spotted Sherlock not ten feet away sinning around in a circle, hands on temples, clearly thinking.

"John." She warned out loud. For the doctor was heading for a clear collision with Sherlock. He didn't hear her and feeling impish she decided she wanted to see how this panned out, she crossed the road backward, not taking her eyes off of the scene.

She grinned as they both bumped into each other, Sherlock instantly realising who it was grabbed John's shoulders and obviously started to rattle information off in quick fire consecution. John's bewildered face made her chuckle as he attempted to get Sherlock to shut up.

Sherlock must have quietened finally as he followed the direction of John's pointing hand. That's when he finally spotted her under the entrance to the shop both Van Coon and Lukis had visited – The Lucky Cat.

She smirked as she watched Sherlock's mouth open into a perfect 'O' shape as he looked at her. He stared at her for a second before following John, who was already half way towards her. "Alright?" She asked amused as Sherlock finally reached her.

"Of course." He said with a quick nod.

"That was funny to watch from a distance." She told him innocently and she caught John smirk in the corner of her eye.

Before he could answer she opened the door to the shop, her back turned to it, still looking at the pair of them with a grin as she began to back step inside. Once they were in they began to look at the shelves as they were greeted by a Chinese female shop keeper.

"Hello." She greeted the woman back politely before going back to looking at her shelves of items.

"You want lucky cat?" The women asked them.

"Um, no thank you." She declined the offer casually and went back to looking as she heard the women offer a lucky cat to John.

Both she and Sherlock smirk at John as the woman proved to be very persistent in her efforts regardless of the fact that she was getting nowhere. She stopped smirking and bit the inside of her cheek as John smiled awkwardly and walked away.

"Ten pound. Ten pound!" The woman said holding up a cat. Knowing she'd possibly regret it Scarlett abandoned her search for clues. Walking toward the woman behind the desk she asked, "Do you have any small ones?"

"Oh, yes!" She nodded dutifully before pointing to a shelf behind her covered in miniature lucky cats.

"Ooo!" She instantly pointed to one in the middle, "I'll have the green one please!"

"Ah yes, Jade Lucky Cat. Very lucky. Very lucky." The woman nodded in agreement with her choice. "Five pound. Five pound."

Scarlett nodded and they traded off both of their items to each other, her lucky cat having been lovingly wrapped up.

"Are you quiet done?" She turned to see Sherlock by the door, waiting to leave.

"Oh, are you?" He nodded. "Right, yes I am."

She thanked the woman and exited the store, once the door had shut behind her and the three of them were walking Sherlock said, "I hope you realise you just endorsed a Chinese smuggling point by buying that thing."

"If I did, I did." She said, not overly bothered, "Miles is going to love this!"

"Quite." Sherlock said shortly.

"So, while I was buying stuff, what did you two find? Let me guess," she grinned, "you figured out that the graffiti tag is actually an ancient number system used by Chinese smugglers?" She asked casually.

"Y-yeah, how did you know that?" John asked her.

"I pieced it together after picking up a few things in there, which is why I bought the cat." Scarlett undid her lucky cat, revealing the tag. "Say hello to the number five in the ancient Chinese number system." She declared proudly as they walked through a market. The symbol was identical to that of the open top eight – bar the horizontal line running above it – on Sir William Shad's portrait in the banking office.

"Hangzhou." Sherlock told her, "Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect. These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library."

As they walked through the Chinese market John spotted a sign with the upside down eight and slash above it with its English equivalent beneath, "Fifteen! What we thought was the artist's tag – it's a number fifteen."

"Correct!" Scarlett nodded. She showed him the tag on her lucky cat, "See, that's what a five looks like on its own. Add a horizontal line above the opening and boom! Fifteen."

"And the blindfold – the horizontal line?" Sherlock asked her. "That after all was a number as well."

He showed them a price tag which had the almost-horizontal line at the top, and 'one pound' written underneath it. "The Chinese number one." Sherlock concluded.

"So we've found it!" John said smiling.

Sherlock turned and walked away, John following. As she went to as well she spotted a Chinese woman with a camera she thought she spotted outside Baker Street earlier while she and John got in the cab to get to Scotland Yard. She was wearing dark glasses like before and again raised her lens towards her to take a picture. Scarlett went to investigate her but her vision of the woman was obscured by a group of people and she decided to leave it. Looking back over her shoulder as she reluctantly followed the boys.

They were sat in a café that was opposite the Lucky Cat, apparently staking it out but she could only think about that woman.

"Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?" John asked them both as he sat on the opposite side of the table to them.

"It's not what they saw; it's what they both brought back in those suitcases." Sherlock told him as John's food arrived.

"Not duty free." She whispered still watching out of the window.

John thanked the waitress as Sherlock continued, "Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market."

"Lost five million…" John started.

"…Made it back in a week." Sherlock finished for him, still not looking at them.

"Mmm." Scarlett sounded as her eyes narrowed, the flat next to The Lucky Cat had a Yellow Pages resting on the porch and she could see rain drops on it. It hadn't rained since Monday.

"That's how he made such easy money." Sherlock concluded.

"He was a smuggler." John voiced out loud before eating some of his food.

"A business man making frequent trips to Asia. The prefect cover story, and Lukis much the same..." Sherlock admired quietly.

"…An investigative journalist looking into china." Scarlett said, "Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off." She finished absently.

"But why did they die?" John asked, "I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?" Once he'd ended talking he ate another fork full of food.

"What if one of them was light-fingered?" Sherlock offered as he relaxed into his seat, whilst Scarlett remained tense in hers.

"How d'you mean?" John sounded confused.

"Stole something; something from the hoard." Sherlock said.

"The killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both." Scarlett rationalised to make it seem like she was still focused on the conversation, when she was actually thinking of how to get into the flat next door to The Lucky Cat. The window was open; the Yellow Pages had been there for three days. Something was wrong in that flat. She wanted to make sure the owner wasn't dead.

Finally she placed her hands on the table making to stand up from her seat quickly and headed for the door of the restaurant. Ignoring the calls of Sherlock and John she sprinted across the road and picked up the yellow pages wrapped in a protective plastic.

She straightened herself and pressed the buzzer of the only labelled resident, a young woman named Soo Lin Yao. There was no answer and after a couple of seconds she headed to an alley way at the side of the building. Looking over her shoulder briefly she noticed Sherlock and John had joined her.

"No-one's been in that flat for at least three days." She said in way of explanation for her behaviour.

"Could've gone on holiday." John offered casually.

"Yeah, because when you go on holiday you leave your windows open. No, something's wrong here." She told them before spotting a metal fire escape; she backed up to the other side of the alley and took a running jump, pulling down the stairs. When they touched the ground she rushed up them to get into the window.

"Scarlett, wait! Come back!" Sherlock called for her as she began to climb into the window.

"What?!" She asked exasperatedly.

"You're just going to break into a stranger's flat?"

"Oh, like you wouldn't have done! Don't go all parental on me now, Sherlock!" She called down to him.

He followed her up onto the fire escape so he now stood next to her next to the window. "Stay down here with John."

"Why?!" She asked affronted before continuing in a baby voice, "Don't you trust me to check out a flat, Sherlock?"

"Don't ask questions, just do it. This place's above the Lucky cat, a Chinese smuggling port, you don't know what could be in it." They stared at each other for a moment before Scarlett relented.

"Fine!" She huffed after a second. "But I called this place, I figured out that there was an issue. Just you remember that." She smiled briefly before walking back down the fire escape and joining John in the alleyway.

She walked with John around to the front of the flat and they waited patiently for the front door to not that it would be she knew. John made a display of ringing the doorbell in several, short, sharp bursts. When Sherlock failed to answer the door John tried to the letterbox, "Can you not keep doing this please?"

She thought she heard Sherlock given muffled reply and he must've done because a second later John was shouting through the letterbox again, "What?!"

There was another muffled reply and John walked away front door in frustration, "Ah, no, this is typical Sherlock behaviour this is!" He looked at her briefly as he walked to the edge of the pavement, his back to the door, before turning around and heading back to open the letterbox again.

"'Because I'm Sherlock Holmes… And no one can compete with my... MASSIVE INTELLECT!'" The irritated Doctor yelled through the tiny slit in the door.

"And breathe, John." Scarlett said to him and he walked right the door once more.

"Anything could be happening up there!" John protested.

"What?" She said with a teasing tone, "Is the laundry going to get him?" She asked with a small laugh. "It's fine, he's Sherlock. You know what he's like of the best of times. Just let him get on with it."

No sooner had she said this the front door to Soo Lin's apartment opened to reveal Sherlock holding a piece of paper in his hand. "You were right, something is wrong," he said turning to Scarlett, although he's voice sounded off, croaky, as though he was getting a cold. "Soo Lin Yao left here in a hurry three days ago, we need to find her."

"Alright, but where do we start looking? London's a big place." John asked him.

"We could start with this," Sherlock said brandishing the piece of paper in his hand which she now realised was in fact envelope. "I found it on the doormat just a second ago."

Scarlett took the envelope from Sherlock and read out loud, "'SOO LIN, Please ring me. Tell me you're OK, Andy.'" In the corner of the folded over envelope was the logo belonging to 'The National Antiquities Museum.' "Well, I guess the Museum is as good a place as any to start the search."

"Sounds like a plan," Sherlock said with a deep throaty cough, "let's go."

"Are you sure you're alright? You've gone all throaty." Scarlett said looking at him perplexed.

Sherlock coughed again and she managed to shot a look at John before he wheezed out, "I'm fine."

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

When they got there Sherlock went to the front desk demanding to see this 'Andy' person. The three of them were lead to a display area and introduced to Andy, who must have been in his early twenties.

Sherlock paced as he interviewed him, "When was the last time that you saw her?"

"Three days ago, um, here at the museum." Andy replied.

Scarlett looked around briefly and spotted a display case of clay tea pots, all but one was dull in shine.

"And this morning they told me she'd resigned just like that." Andy continued and Scarlett noticed a saddened quality to his voice.

She turned her attention to a case containing some jade figurines, and then at a piece of artwork.

"Just left her work unfinished." Andy sighed forlornly.

Scarlett turned to him head tilted slightly, "What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?" She asked him inquisitively.

Andy walked them through to the basement archive, turning on the lights as the four of them entered, "She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here." He explained to them.

She and John stood by Andy as he opened up a stack for them to look inside, out of the corner of her eye she spotted Sherlock walk off. She didn't bother to pay attention until she heard him call out, "Ah… I know what happened to her." They all turned and beheld a statue with the yellow cipher.

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

"We have to get to Soo Lin Yao." Sherlock declared as they left the museum in a hurry.

"If she's still alive." John said following Sherlock.

"Great," she mocked, "great positive thinking there, John."

"Scarlett!" She heard her name being called and turned.

It was Raz running towards them, grinning, "Oh, look who it is." John muttered.

"Pack it in you!" Scarlett scolded the doctor.

"I've found something you'll like." Raz told her quickly before he began to double back the way he had come. Scarlett immediately gave chase.

Shortly afterwards the three of them are walking across Hungerford Bridge following Raz, heading towards the south side of the river.

"Tuesday morning, all you've gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours." John said in moody irritation.

"Forget about your court date." Sherlock waved John off as they continue onwards. For the briefest of moments Scarlett thought she spotted the same Chinese woman with the dark sunglasses that had been in Baker Street earlier in the day.

When they reached the South Bank Skate Park Raz took them across the under-croft. Scarlett watched as a boy did some kind of clever jump on his pushbike. A girl that was with him declared that the stunt was 'rad'.

"If you want to hide a tree…" Sherlock commented.

"Hide it in a forest." She finished, "People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message."

"Exactly." He agreed.

Raz pointed to a particular area on one of the heavily-graffitied walls. "There, Scar. I spotted it earlier."

She focused and amongst all the other paint there were slashes of the yellow forming Chinese symbols. Some of them were already partially painted over by other artists' tags and pictures.

"They've been here alright." She turned to Raz, "And that's the exact same paint?"

"Yeah, babe." He nodded, in the corner of her vision she saw Sherlock pointedly look away.

"If we're going to decipher this code, we're gonna need to look for more evidence." Sherlock said after a moment, "Come on you two."

Sherlock and Scarlett began searching, separated from John. They walk along the end of a railway line and found an abandoned spray can on the tracks. Squatting down to pick it up, she watched as Sherlock put the end of his flashlight into his mouth and ran a thumb over the yellow paint on the nozzle before sniffing the nozzle.

"Anything for a quick fix, eh, Sherlock?" She smirked keeping her flash light trained on him. He looked up at her, torch still in his mouth and rolled his eyes at her.

Sherlock got up and lead the way to a tunnel the inside walls of which were covered in posters. One of the posters attracted Scarlett's attention and she tore off the bottom corner of it and took it with her as she continued onwards, following Sherlock.

A little while later she was stood back watching Sherlock currently looking at the side of a parked rail freight container when John came trotting towards them. "Do you two not answer your phones? I've been calling you both! I've found it."

She followed John as he turned around again and the two of them ran off after him into the night side by side. They stopped in front of a wall and she looked at John in time to see his mouth drop open in shock.

"It's been painted over!" He cried.

Sherlock shone his flashlight around the area as John continued to stare at the wall in disbelief. Scarlett stepped forward patting him on the shoulder.

"I don't understand. It-it was here…" John stumbled back in disbelief, "…Not ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti!"

"Somebody doesn't want us to see it." Sherlock said gesturing to Scarlett then back to himself. He then turned suddenly, walked forward and gripped the sides of John's head with his hands.

"Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing…?" John asked slight unease in his voice.

"Shh, John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes." Scarlett watched in wide-eyed amusement as Sherlock began to spin them on the spot. She took out her phone and started to subtly film, knowing Lestrade would love this.

"No, what? Why? Why?" John asked at a loss. Sherlock lowered his hands to hold John by the upper arms after the doctor had asked the questions. "What are you doing?!" John cried sounding terrified.

"I need you to maximise your visual memory." Sherlock began to say in way of explanation. "Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah." John said shortly.

"Can you remember it?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, definitely." John confirmed.

"Can you remember the pattern?" Sherlock asked looking at his friend intently.

"Yes!" John cried.

"How much can you remember it?" Sherlock queried.

"Well, don't worry…" John tried to assure him.

Sherlock was still spinning them, "Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate."

"Yeah, well, don't worry – I remember all of it." John declared proudly.

"Really?" Sherlock said in a tone of disbelieving.

"Yeah, well at least I would…" He began to say as he pulled away, "if I could get to my pockets!"

He searched his pockets as Scarlett saved the video and sent it to Greg with a few finger strokes, "Because I took a photograph." John said finally as he extracted his phone. He got up the photos for them to see and Sherlock looked embarrassed while she just shook her head.

"You two make a great couple!" She told them with a smirk.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

Back in the flat the photograph had been blown up into small sections and then printed out and all the pictures were now stuck on the mirror. The numerical value of each symbol had been written against it. Scarlett looked at the pictures intently before saying, "In pairs, always in pairs, Sherlock."

"Yes," he said to her, "I noticed."

"Hmm?" John snorted; Scarlett turned and watched as his sleeping head slipped from his hand propped up on the table.

"Numbers come with partners." Sherlock continued.

John gazed blankly around the flat, "God, I need to sleep."

"Why paint it so near the tracks, though?" Scarlett asked the room.

"No idea." John answered tiredly, she wondered briefly if he even knew what he was replying to.

"Thousands of people pass by there every day…" She continued.

"Just twenty minutes." John said sleepily, she turned back to John and took a photo; the automatic flash startled him slightly.

"Of course." Sherlock said suddenly as he removed the photos from the wall. "Of course! He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back."

As he ran his fingers over the symbols she said pointing to the cipher, "So there's a code in there we need to crack?"

He nodded and headed for the door "And we can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao."

"Oh, good." John said sarcastically as he tiredly got up to follow.

They made their way quickly back to the museum now in the dark to find Andy, once again in the display room. Sherlock took no time to get to the bottom of their visit.

"Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in Hangzhou numerals." He told Andy.

"Soo Lin Yao's in danger. Now, that cipher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well." Scarlett told him urgently.

"Look," Andy told them, despair evident in his voice, "I've tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don't know where she's gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away by now."

Scarlett sighed in annoyance turning her attention to Soo Lin's tea pot display. She focused on them intently before she grinned, "But she's not!"

"How could you possibly know that?" John asked her.

"Look," She walked toward the display case that held the pots.

"Yeah," said Andy, "those teapots need urgent attention, the clay is cracking, apparently you just have to keep making tea in them."

"This afternoon when we came in only one of these was shining; now there are two." Scarlett told them.

They found her in the archives hidden away doing her restoration on her teapots, Soo Lin Yao. She had been hiding out in the museum in order to finish her work. Scarlett watched from the side intrigued by the whole process. Soo Lin used tea leaves, not a bag. When she filled the pot she put enough water in so that when she put on the lid the weight displacement would cause hot tea to spill over the outer surface of the pot she was working on, coating it and therefore preserving it.

She watched tense as Sherlock walked up to her from behind, "Fancy a biscuit with that?"

The moment he had begun to talk Soo Lin had turned in terrified shock and the tiny pot she held slipped from her delicate fingers. Sherlock's lightening reflects caught it though before it smashed unceremoniously onto the ground.

Handing the pot back to her he said, "Careful, centuries old. Don't wanna break that." He straightened up and flicked the switch on under her work desk, "Hello, Soo Lin."

* * *

Second part of 'The Blind Banker' for you. :)

I still own nothing that you recognise as traditional Sherlock stuff, sadly.

Thanks as always to my favourites/follows/reviews - keep 'em coming!

Until next time,

HH


	6. The Blind Banker - Part Three

The Blind Banker: Part Three

_They found her in the archives hidden away doing her restoration on her teapots, Soo Lin Yao. She had been hiding out in the museum in order to finish her work. Scarlett watched from the side intrigued by the whole process. Soo Lin used tea leaves, not a bag. When she filled the pot she put enough water in so that when she put on the lid the weight displacement would cause hot tea to spill over the outer surface of the pots, coating and therefore preserving it. _

_She watched tense as Sherlock walked up to her from behind, "Fancy a biscuit with that?"_

_The moment he had begun to talk Soo Lin had turned in terrified shock and the tiny pot she held had slipped from her delicate fingers. Sherlock's lightening reflects caught it though before it smashed unceremoniously onto the ground. _

_Handing the pot back to her he said, "Careful, centuries old. Don't wanna break that." He straightened up and flicked the switch on under her work desk which light up the immediate area, "Hello, Soo Lin."_

* * *

"You saw the cipher." Soo Lin told them. "Then you know he is coming for me."

John had arrived not long after Sherlock had revealed himself to Soo Lin, joining them all at the table.

"You've been clever to avoid him so far." Scarlett told her in earnest.

"I had to finish...to finish this work." She told her. "It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me." She sounded forlorn.

"Who is he?" Sherlock asked the woman. "Have you met him before?"

Soo Lin nodded and bit her lip lightly, "When I was a girl, living back in China. I recognise his... 'Signature'."

"The cipher." John said out loud.

"Only he would do this." Her voice wavered as she said, "Zhi Zhu."

"The Spider." Both she and Sherlock said at once.

Soo Lin pulled her right foot up on her opposite knee; unlaced her shoe and pulled it off slowly to show the three of them the underside of her heel. There, right on the ball of her heel was a black tattoo of a lotus flower.

"You know this mark?" Soo Lin asked them. Scarlett and John shook their heads whilst Sherlock nodded.

"Yes." He said, "It's the mark of a Tong."

"And what's that?" John asked them.

"An ancient crime syndicate based in China."

"Oh," John said in surprise but nodded.

"Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them." Soo Lin sighed quietly.

Scarlett's eyes widened, "You were a smuggler for them." She realised.

Soo Lin looked down at her foot before placing her shoe back on, "I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses."

"Who are they?" Sherlock asked leaning forward slightly.

"They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds' worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England." Despite herself Soo Lin actually managed to smile a little.

"They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life." Her voice was becoming thick, tears glossing over her dark eyes and Scarlett picked up on her over whelming emotion, the despair, the fear, the heart break.

"They came looking for you." Scarlett said, her voice constricted as her throat closed over, she felt as though she was being suffocated. This was often the case when she picked up on overwhelming emotion.

"Yes." Soo Lin nodded sadly. She swallowed and the tears finally began to spill from her doe eyes. "I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away."

She wiped the tears from her eyes hastily before continuing. "He came to my flat. He asked me to help him track down something that was stolen."

"But you didn't know what it was?" John asked her.

Soo Lin shook her head, "It doesn't matter. I refused to help either way."

"So you knew him well when you were living back in China?" John asked leaning forward.

She nodded, "Oh yes." She looked up at Sherlock, "He's my brother. Two orphans." Soo Lin began to disclose to them, "We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets like beggars."

Soo Lin shook her head up at the ceiling before looking at them seeming not to see them anymore. "My brother has become their puppet; in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

Sherlock laid the photographs on the table, "Can you decipher these?"

Soo Lin leant forward and pointed to the mark beside Sir William's portrait. "These are numbers."

"Yes, we know." Scarlett told her.

"Here: the line across the man's eyes – it's the Chinese number one." Soo Lin told them.

Sherlock pointed to the photo, "And this one is fifteen. But what's the code?"

"All the smugglers know it. It's based upon a book…" Soo Lin began to say but was interrupted when all bar a few of the lights went out.

The young Chinese woman's face turned to one of dread as Sherlock stood, dragging Scarlett up with him as he went.

Soo Lin told them in a terrified voice, "He's here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me."

Sherlock began to drag her out of the room back into the main part of the museum. She guessed that they were meant to be a distraction for Zhi Zhu whilst Soo Lin hid. "Stick with me." Sherlock told her and she nodded in response.

They raced across a large open foyer with a staircase at each end with a balcony surrounding the floor above. They halted in the middle of the foyer and looked around. To her left Scarlett spotted a figure run across the balcony. Seconds later the figure fired a gun at them. She divided to her right behind a low plinth like desk; she looked across the room to see Sherlock in much the same position as herself. They were fired at a couple more times. She chanced a glance around the side of her hiding place to see John running for cover across the foyer.

Scarlett turned her attention back to Sherlock who had his hands braced on the cabinet he was hiding behind preparing to push off and run for it. He gave her a look that clearly said to stay put and she nodded briefly. With that she watched Sherlock hare across the foyer and up the stairs, the figure followed and Scarlett could hear both parties run into another near-by open room. She cringed as she heard more gun fire.

"Careful!" Sherlock's voice made it to the foyer, echoing loudly.

There was another single shot, "Some of those skulls are over two hundred thousand years old! Have a bit of respect!" Sherlock scolded the gunman loudly.

There was a pause of absolute silence until Sherlock broke it after an absence of gunfire, "Thank-you!"

You could have heard a pin drop as Scarlett began to get up. She spotted John looking around from behind a pillar and, double checking the terrace, she made her way towards him. She looked around as a drumming began to sound throughout the museum. It cut off as it reached its climax and there was a beat of silence followed by a single gun-shot.

"Oh my God." She said once she finally realised what had happened.

She raced back across the foyer and into the restoration room, John not far behind her. She entered the room slowly, looking for any signs of the gunman. As they both made their way across the room she let out a slight gasp, Soo Lin's body greeted her. Spread across the desk she had been working at she now held an origami flower in the palm of her outstretched, up turned hand. Scarlett hung back as John walked forward groaning his guilt and despair at the young woman's demise.

-Break Line - Break Line - Break Line -

She found herself glaring at Dimmock's back a little while later whilst she watched her doctor go on the defence.

"How many murders is it gonna take before you start believing that this maniac's out there?" John asked hotly.

Dimmock continued to act as if he was ignoring them before he turned to walk in between them, reaching for another desk. John followed him determinately, "A young girl was gunned down tonight. That's three victims in three days. You're supposed to be finding him."

Sherlock walked across John's path to get to Dimmock and she shot John a sympathetic look as he turned to her in exasperation.

"Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers – a gang called the Black Lotus operating here in London right under _your_ nose." Sherlock told him leaning towards the D.I. putting emphasis on the word 'your'.

"Can you prove that?" Dimmock asked him cockily.

"Yes actually." She told the D.I. thinking fast, though he looked sceptical. "We can."

A little while later she had abandoned the three men in the morgue at Bart's and had gone in search of Molly. She found her in the canteen at the self-serve counter.

"Molly!"

The young woman turned and smiled at her as Scarlett walked towards her. She looked down at the options, pork or pasta. "My advice: go with the pasta."

"Yeah, I was thinking that." Molly nodded and scooped some into a bowl. "Are you getting anything?"

"You know, I might. I can't remember the last time I ate." She pulled a bank note from her pocket and picked up a coke and a little further down the line a muffin.

"Well, that's not good." Molly said to her as they got to the pay point. Molly went to pay when Scarlett put her hand up.

"No Molly, let me." She paid for the both of them and walked away.

"You didn't n-" She started as Scarlett began to steer her to the exit.

"I wanted to, you see, I need a favour." She told Molly truthfully.

"Oh, um, what can I do to help?" The woman smiled uncertainly at her.

"Well, I need you to pull up two guys for me." She said with an apologetic look on her face as she said, "Thing is, I know they're on your list."

"I won't harm them or whatever I just need to check out a physical feature." She assured. "If it helps," she tagged on, "It's to prove a guy wrong."

"The guy you were saying is on this case last night?" Scarlett nodded; both she and Sherlock had Molly's number. Sherlock used it when he needed something. She used it to actually attempt to build a relationship with Molly.

"Um…" Molly sounded as she still deliberated.

"And as an added bonus I'll throw in a funny video of Sherlock and John." She smiled her biggest smile.

Ten minutes later Scarlett was back in the morgue, but this time with Molly who helped her get the bodies out on to tables. Once they were, she opened the body bags at the feet end.

"Come here." She said pointing at Dimmock. He walked forward and beheld the black lotus tattoo on Lukis' foot. Scarlett walked over to the other bag, shooting Sherlock a smug look, and proceeded to do the same, revealing an identical tattoo on Van Coon. She watched Dimmock silently sigh in defeat.

"Oh!" She exclaimed in a sarcastic gasp.

"So…?" Dimmock tried to defend himself.

"Sooo…" Scarlett drew out.

"…Either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlour or we're telling the truth." Sherlock said as he stepped forward away from the wall.

Dimmock sighed again but this time in resignation, "What do you want?"

"Every book from Lukis' and Van Coon's apartment." He told Dimmock.

Eyebrows raised he asked, "Their books?"

-Break Line - Break Line - Break Line –

Back at Two-Two-One-B the three of them walked into the living room and John instantly sat down, shrugging out of his jacket. She stayed by the door, removing her coat.

"So a cult then." Sherlock told the room at large. "Not just a criminal organisation."

"Soo Lin said the name." John said from his seat.

"Yes; General Shan." Scarlett said thinking.

"But we're still no closer to finding them." John said as he rubbed his face.

"Wrong. We've got almost all we need to know. Soo Lin gave us most of the missing pieces." Scarlett told him.

She looked at John, waiting for him to agree. When John said nothing, Sherlock impatiently began to explain. "Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?"

"She worked at the museum." John said, shaking his head not seeing the significance.

"Exactly." Scarlett stated as she watched the cogs in John's head turn.

When he had finally caught up he said, "An expert in antiquities. Mmm, of course, I see."

"Valuable antiquities - ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China is home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao's revolution." Sherlock told them.

"And the Black Lotus," Scarlett added, "is selling them." Sherlock turned to her as she said that, his head tilted slightly. She sighed internally, that look would be the death of her.

A little while later she has her mini notebook out and was using it to look at the website Crispians'. The tags she was using being Chinese, Asian art work. John was leaning over Sherlock's shoulder as he sat at the table to look at the screen.

"Here." Sherlock said after a moment. "Arrived from China four days ago."

"You talking about the Ming vases?" Scarlett asked them from across the room.

"Yeah." Sherlock replied as she got up and walked towards them balancing the notebook in the palm of her hand as she looked at the same page.

"'Source – Anonymous'." She read aloud, "The vendor gives no name."

"Two undiscovered treasures from the East." Sherlock marvelled.

"One in Lukis' suitcase and one in Van Coon's." John realised.

Sherlock started to type again saying each word he said as they were typed, "Chinese antiquities sold at auction." She watched as multiple items appeared on Sherlock's computer screen.

"Look," He said pointing at the screen. "Here's another one."

The Chinese ceramic statue had sold for four hundred thousand pounds a month ago according to the data. Scarlett whistled lowly as John consulted Lukis' diary, then the print out of Van Coon's work schedule.

"Ah, look: a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million." She pointed to the painting on the listing as Sherlock scrolled down the page.

"All of them from an anonymous source. They're stealing them back in China and one by one they're feeding them into Britain." Sherlock realised, a small smile of marvel on his face.

"Huh." John said as he once again consulted both the diaries, "And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China."

"So what?" Scarlett asked in speculation, "One of them got greedy when they were in China? Stole something?"

"And that's why Zhi Zhu's come." John concluded. They were pulled out of their thoughts with a knock at their front door, which they had left open.

"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs Hudson called out to them as the three of them turned to look at her. "Sorry to interrupt but are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?"

"What?" Sherlock answered confused.

"A young man's outside with crates of books." The land lady replied.

Plastic crate after plastic crate are brought into the flat by two policemen, "So, the numbers are references." Sherlock said out loud as yet another crate was placed down.

"To books." John said shortly.

"To specific pages and specific words on those pages." Scarlett corrected him.

"Right, so…fifteen and one: that means…"

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read." Sherlock cleared up for him.

"Okay. So what's the message?" John asked.

"Depends on the book." Scarlett popped the 'K' at the end of her sentence taking in the multitude of crates now being brought into the room. "And the cunning thing is: It has to be one that they both owned."

John looked about ready to end it as he took in the sight of all the crates either labelled 'Van Coon' or 'Lukis'. "Okay, right. Well, this shouldn't take too long, should it?" He asked in frustrated sarcasm.

She picked a crate at random in the middle of the room, filled open the lid and let out a sigh as she saw how many were in there. She picked one out at random and looked at both its front and back as Dimmock entered and addressed them all.

"We found these, at the museum." He held up a clear evidence bag for them all to see containing the photographs of the wall Sherlock had taken that they had showed Soo Lin. "Is this your writing?" He asked them.

"If you must know, we were hoping Soo Lin could decipher them for us." She told him outstretching her hand silently asking for the bag.

Dimmock nodded and looked around briefly before looking back at her, "Anything else I can do? To assist you, I mean?"

"Some silence right now would be marvellous." Sherlock called over to him from across the room.

Dimmock looked between them all, though Sherlock's back was now turned and biting his lip slightly the young D.I turned tail and left the room.

Before starting on her box of crates Scarlett took a moment to watch Sherlock remove a book from both Van Coon and Lukis' boxes as he realised they were a pair, "Cigarette." She heard him mutter in disappointment as he turned to page fifteen and looked at the first word.

She dutifully began to look into her crate of books to look for pairs. A while passed until she spotted a pairing, well, seven. Two copies of the Harry Potter series looked up at her in each crate, the original colourful copies, not the reprinted black or white covered copies. "Alright, pretty common book series, hang on…"

She picked up and opened the books one by one to page fifteen in ascending order starting with the first in the series. "'Know', 'Harry', 'Inside', 'Now', 'The', 'And', 'Exchange'." She spoke quietly as each word presented them self to her. None of them seemed right and she sighed as she took both series and placed them on the floor by her feet.

Michael McIntyre – Live and Laughing gave her the word 'Neurotic' and Michael Murpergo's Private Peaceful gave her the word 'as'.

They kept on like this all through the night every now and again one of them muttering a word for fear of breaking the others concentration. It was getting light out when Scarlett realised that she was leaning rather heavily on one of Van Coon's ever lightening crates. She backed away and rubbed her eyes tiredly with a yawn.

She blinked wearily in Sherlock's direction as she mussed up her hair slightly in hearing his frustrated sigh. She watched him look despairingly around at the crates and then at her. Too exhausted to do much else she shrugged in a non-committal way.

A piercing noise ripped through the air and she jumped a considerable height, "Jesus christ! It's too early in the morning!" She half yelled half hissed, turning to discover that the noise was coming from John's wrist watch.

"John." She threw a mini pillow from one of the armchairs at him; the pillow sailed across the room and missed the doctor by inches. He jerked awake suddenly and looked at her drowsily, "Turn it off, John!" She said as she flailed at his watch. He did after a second before he placed his head in his hands and sighed.

A little while later John had left for work leaving her and Sherlock in the flat with all the books. She was seriously considering taking a nap in one of the crates as she took out another book with effort. "Get some sleep." Sherlock called to her.

She just laughed, "I will when you do."

A few seconds later her phone rang signalling a call. She took it out, propped her elbow on the edge of the open crate she was stood at and groaned into the receiver, "Hello?"

"Good morning to you to, Niece of mine." Mycroft's cool voice replied.

"No. Sorry, it's just too early for you…" Her eyelids dipped heavily, as her head began to lull to the side.

"Well get up! I have news. You've been given the clear. Your exams are all next week on Thursday." He told her regally.

"Hmm, exams? Oh! My exams!" She practically shouted as her brain clicked and her head shot upwards.

Sherlock turned to look at her as she tried to focus, "Uh, yeah. When was that? Next Thursday? Yeah, sure. Thanks Mycroft."

"How much sleep did you get last night?" He asked her and it was only then she realised that her politeness, void of snide remarks had caused him alarm.

"Oh, you know, one or two..." She tried to sound nonchalant but it wasn't really working.

There was a pause before he finally enquired, "…Hours?"

"More like minutes. I've got to go; I'm in the middle of something right now." She said looking around at the crates tiredly.

He sighed, "Of course you are. Keep an eye on Sherlock for me."

"You should start paying me for that you know." She told him with uncharacteristically cheeky for this time of morning.

"I did offer." He returned in retaliation.

"And I declined, I know, I know." She nodded regretting how much reading Van Coon and Lukis did as she picked up yet another book. "Goodbye Mycroft." With that she ended the call.

"Next Thursday. What if I need you?" She looked up at Sherlock as he glared at her in childish annoyance.

"Four exams, an hour and a half a piece. I'll be gone six hours tops." She smirked, "You telling me that you're so used to having me around you can't function if I'm not here?"

"No." He replied in short irritation.

"Yes," She put the book in her hand she had forgotten about back in its box and stood back. "And I promise, once it's over, I'm all yours."

"You're mine regardless…" He told her with a casual possessiveness looking up at her from the book he had just opened.

"I'm sorry," She said tilting her head with a smirk, "I must have missed the memo where I suddenly and inexplicitly became an inanimate object."

He sniffed, "Not an object, merely indispensable to the case."

"Oh, please. This case will be done by then." She rolled her eyes at his drama.

"I meant any case." He spoke casually but she understood the message underneath. It was his way of telling her he cared.

She smiled slightly as he continued waving his hand in a noncommittal way, "But, by all means, abandon me for _meaningless exams._"

"They aren't meaningless, Sherlock. I need something to hand over in an interview." She told him practically.

"Why would you be being interviewed?" He asked her confused as his eyebrows kitted together, finger holding the page of the current book he held in place.

"A job?" She told him slowly, "I love this," She said gesturing around to the flat, "But it doesn't pay does it?"

"It can, if you're willing to take clients that pay."

She turned away from him towards the window, "But you never do, not that I'm aware." She turned back to him after realising something, "Sherlock, how _do _you pay the rent?" His answer was, as standard, a smirk.

She groaned and sat down in one of the arm chairs a few hours later. "Too many books…" she complained, "…My brain is fried!"

Even Sherlock looked frazzled as he rubbed his face tiredly. "You know? I think we need to change tactics. This," He said waving his hands around gesturing to the crates, "is getting us nowhere…" He concluded.

She placed the book she had been holding down and watched as he turned to the bookcase behind him. "A book that everyone would own…" He pulled down three in one go and she walked over to him, her legs stiff through lack of movement.

He had pulled down the Concise Oxford English Dictionary, the Holy Bible and… Syphilis and local contagious disorders…

"Not everyone owns that book, Sherlock." She pointed out. "I didn't even know we had it…" She opened the book to page fifteen gingerly as though she would get all the diseases mentioned in the book. She found entry one on page fifteen quickly, "Nostrils." She said, quietly relieved, god only knew what she could have ended up saying.

"Well the dictionary's given me 'add' and the Bible has given me 'I'." Sherlock said clearly annoyed as John's bedroom door slammed shut as he walked into the main part of the flat. She thought she recalled him coming in about forty minutes ago.

"I need to get some air. We're going out tonight." Sherlock said, as he ruffled up his hair and propped an elbow on the nearest crate.

She caught John's smug smile as he tried to decline, "Actually, I've, er, got a date."

"What?" Sherlock asked abruptly. It amused her that still after all this time he was convinced that the world revolved around him and not the sun.

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun." John explained in a simple tone.

"That's what I was suggesting…" Sherlock said slowly in honest confusion.

"No it wasn't… at least I hope not." John sounded hopeful that he was right.

She smirked at Sherlock's sulky expression before she turned to John and asked, "Where are you taking her?"

He smiled at her, "Er, cinema."

"Oh, dull, boring, predictable." Sherlock concluded.

"Oh shush, you!" She said to Sherlock as she picked up the piece of paper she had previously torn away during their walk through the under pass. She handed it over ignoring Sherlock's smug look, "You could try this."

John took it and looked at the piece of paper. The poster piece was advertising the Yellow Dragon Circus and gave the telephone number of the Box Office so you could order tickets.

Sherlock told him, "They're in London for one night only." John chuckled slightly and handed the scrap piece of paper back to Scarlett. She wouldn't say it but she was secretly pleased that he might not go; she didn't want to ruin his date.

"Thanks, but I think I can sort out my own dating advice." He told them.

-Break Line-Break Line-Break Line-

That night they followed John and his date to the Yellow Dragon Circus. Scarlett had made it perfectly clear that even though this was for a case she didn't feel right interrupting John's private life. Sherlock – being the sociopath he was – had basically ignored her and carried on anyway.

They waked not far behind John and his date as they reached the slopping entrance to the building that held the event. Red paper lantern's swung in the breeze gently. She was attempting not to cringe as she heard John pick up his tickets at the entry booth.

"Two for er… Holmes." She heard John say and she hid her face in her hands feeling terrible and awkward.

A second later a male voice replied, "Actually, I have four in that name."

"No, I don't think so. We only booked two." John told the man confused.

That's when Sherlock stepped forward and said to John, "And then I phoned back and got one for myself and Scarlett as well."

"Hi, John…" She waved a little awkwardly as John looked at them in disbelief. Sherlock for his part stepped forward and introduced himself to John's date.

"I'm Sherlock." He said shaking her hand, "And this is Scarlett." He added gesturing to her.

She waved awkwardly again. "Hello…"

The woman glanced at John momentarily and them back to them, slightly hesitant, "Er, hi."

"Hello." Sherlock replied, he gave her a big fake smile and then turned and instantly walked in the other direction. Scarlett shot John an apologetic look and went after Sherlock.

John and Sarah, which Scarlett thought was a bit of a dull name, had followed them shortly after Sherlock had walked off. Sarah had made a detour to the bathroom and as soon as she had left the current argument between Sherlock and John had ensued.

They were stood halfway up the staircase whilst she waited at the top, "You couldn't let me have just one night off?" John bit out incredulously.

"The Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England…"

"…dressed as a tightrope walker? Come on, Sherlock, behave!"

"We're looking for a killer who can climb." Sherlock defended, "Who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look round the place…"

"Fine." John replied shortly, "You do that; I'm gonna take Sarah for a pint."

"I need your help." Sherlock told him sternly.

"You have Scarlett! And I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!" John said gesturing to her with a flailing arm.

"Like what?" Sherlock asked oblivious making her face palm.

John started at Sherlock, then up at her and then back to Sherlock, "You are kidding."

"What's so important?" Sherlock insisted.

"Sherlock, I'm right in the middle of a date. D'you want me to chase some killer while I'm trying to…?" He broke off mid-sentence seemingly embarrassed.

"What?" Sherlock asked again, losing patience

John finished much louder than intended, "While I'm trying to get off with Sarah!" It was at that moment Sarah decided to walk around the corner and re-join them.

John did what he could to salvage the situation, "Heyyy." He said, trying and – in her opinion – failing to act casual. All she could do was roll her eyes as Sherlock made his way up the stairs to join her.

"Ready?" She heard John ask his date.

"No," She replied to the question not directed at her quietly so only Sherlock could hear. "I don't want to be here!"

"Behave…" Sherlock warned her idly.

In the performance area there was a stage on one side of the large hall and the curtains are closed. It looked like the stage wasn't going to be used through: a circle of candles has been laid out in the middle of the floor, about thirty feet in diameter. With the room dimly lit the audience began to gather around the circle, remaining stood through lack of seating. The group was somewhat small so they could all stand around the circle of candles comfortably and retain a great view of the performance area. Sarah and John she noticed were stood side by side while Sherlock chose to stand behind them. His back was turned to the couple however and he, like she, was surveying the room.

"You said circus." She heard John tell Sherlock as she made her way back around the circle to their group. "This is not a circus." He continued, "Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is... art." He finally said as she re-joined them, John for his part was grimacing.

Sherlock turned his head, talking over his shoulder, "This is not their day job." He rallied off quickly.

"No, sorry, I forgot." John sad with an air of annoyance, "They're not a circus; they're a gang of international smugglers."

With that said the already dim lighting gets dimmer signalling the start of the act. The performance begins with someone tapping out a rhythm on a tiny hand drum. Sherlock turned to face the same way as the rest of them whilst John looked over his shoulder at him. All he got for his efforts was one of Sherlock's eyebrow quirks.

An ornately costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face known traditionally as the Opera Singer she recalled walked into the centre of the circle and looked imperiously out at them all before raising a hand in the air signalling for the drummer to finish his riff. The Opera Singer walked across the circle to a large object covered with a cloth which she pulled back to reveal an antique-looking crossbow on a stand. She picked up a long thick wooden arrow with white feathers at one end and a vicious metal point at the other and showed it to the audience before fitting it into place in the crossbow.

Straightening up, the woman pulled a single small white feather from her headdress, again taking care to show it to them all. On the rear of the crossbow was a small metal cup, she gently dropped the feather into it. Instantly the arrow is released from its confines and whizzed across the room. Her head whipped around to follow its flight whilst she heard others still gasping from the sound of its release. A moment later, the arrow is embedded in a large painted board on the other side of the circle. She watched slightly awkward as Sarah turned to John and laughs, dramatically putting her hand over her heart.

As they all applauded as a musical instrumental started up, whilst a new character entered the circle. He wore chainmail and an ornate head mask. He held his arms out to the sides and two men made their way over to him and started to attach heavy chains and straps to him. They strapped his now-folded arms in front of him, strait-jacket style and then backed him up against the board and started to chain him to it.

Sherlock, unnoticed had come and stood behind her which ultimately broke her concentration as he told her softly, "Classic Chinese escapology act."

"Oh, yeah?" She asked over her shoulder.

He nodded, "The crossbow's on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."

As Sherlock told her this she watched the Opera Singer load another arrow into the crossbow. The men attached more padlocks and chains and one of them pulled a chain tight, yanking the warrior's head back against the board. She grimaced as the warrior cried out. The men looped the chains through solid rings attached to the board to secure the warrior, who cried out again at the painful movement. Once the men had finished, they stepped away. The music began to build up in intensity and cymbals unexpectedly crashed making her flinch ever so slightly.

Sarah must have jumped because a second later Scarlett heard, "Oh, Gawd! I'm sorry!" She didn't bother to look round. Sarah had probably griped John's arm in shock. She still didn't turn to them as she heard John laugh slightly.

The Opera Singer picked up a small knife and displayed it to them all. Sherlock softly continued his narration, "She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl."

The Opera Singer did just what Sherlock predicted – she reached up to a small sandbag hanging on a long cable and stabbed the knife into the bottom of the sack. Sand began to pour out, and the warrior repeatedly cried out with effort as he tugged at his chains. The sandbag's cable was looped over a pulley and a metal ball was attached to the other end. As the sand continued to pour out of the bag the weight lowered towards the bowl at the back of the crossbow. The warrior managed to get one of his hands free.

She surveyed the weight lower to the point where it crossed vertical paths with the ever decreasing sandbag. She spared a quick glance at the warrior and saw that he had managed to free his other hand. He began to tug at the chains that bound him around his neck as the weight hung – still lowering – a few feet above the bowl.

Scarlett couldn't help but grimace as the weight swung just above the lip of the bowl. The warrior was still stuck and struggling to free himself. She held her breath as the arrow streaked across the room towards the warrior as the weight finally touched the bowl. He was quick though and the warrior managed to free himself from his confines and duck down just as the arrow speared the board where – only a second previously – his head had been.

They all started to clap in relief, "Thank God." Sarah said from somewhere next to her.

John replied with, "My God!"

The warrior stood up straight and outstretched his arms taking the applause. She clapped along with the others and when she turned to speak to him, Sherlock had gone. He had most likely gone to survey the area whilst everyone was distracted she concluded. She looked around quickly as the Opera Singer took centre ring once more but could not see Sherlock in the room.

The Opera Singer raised a hand to halt the audience's applause before saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of the Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure the deadly Chinese bird-spider."

A masked acrobat descended from the ceiling as the woman walked away, rolling through the air as the broad red band wrapped around his waist unravelled. They all applauded and the acrobat stopped a couple of feet above the ground, holding his body parallel to the floor.

"Did you see that?!" She heard John ask Sarah and now Scarlett officially felt third-wheelish.

She refocused on the acrobat who was descending to the floor. Once firmly on the ground the acrobat removed the band from around his waist and split it, revealing that it was made up of two strips of material which he began to wrap around his arms. When this task was complete he began to run quickly around the circle before he took his weight on the bands, lifting into the air and flying around in a circle several feet above the ground, the red bands soaring out behind him.

A few moments later whilst the acrobat was still preforming Scarlett's attention was drawn to the stage across the room from where she stood. The curtains that were closed had begun to billow and budge in the middle. She clapped absently as the rest of the crowd did but, still focused on the curtain, she began to walk around the circle to the staged area.

She managed to jump onto the stage successfully and was about to open the curtains when Sherlock came flying through them backwards. He by-passed the stage completely and landed with a thud on the hard ground. She was so intent on observing Sherlock that she failed to notice the warrior that came running after him through the curtains.

Sherlock tried and failed to stand, he was clearly winded. he couldn't move fast at all. The warrior jumped forward and she caught the glint of a blade. Scarlett acted on instinct and before man could cause any harm to Sherlock she jumped onto his back and made a grab for the blade he held in his hand.

"Give…that…here…" She struggled to grit out as the bigger man flayed underneath her trying to throw her off. He couldn't quite manage it though and as they struggled she saw John go down as he tried to help.

She noticed the audience flee as she still struggled; Sarah was running towards them all. Did she have a broom?! Scarlett managed to twist the man's wrist ensuring that he dropped the blade before he successfully managed to shake her off with an elbow to the stomach.

The warrior reached for a second blade attached to his belt, a sword. She could tell that he had every intention of delivering a blow to Sherlock. Before Scarlett could act however Sarah came running up next to her and with a great amount of strength and effort slammed the broom handle across the man's head. She watched as Sarah then continued to whack the man twice across the ribs with the wooden broom handle. The warrior fell to the ground with a stagger, close to unconsciousness.

The older woman straightened up breathlessly Sherlock finally managed to sit up, pulling the right shoe off of the warrior's foot, "There!" He cried before staggering to his feet, "The mark of the Tong. Come on, let's go!" With that said he made an unsteady dash for the exit, the rest of them following.

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

She found herself chasing after Dimmock a little while later who really didn't want to listen to anything they wanted to say. The man stormed onto the office floor clearly less than pleased.

"I sent a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted." He huffed in annoyance.

"Look," Sherlock but in hastily, getting annoyed also, "I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong."

Dimmock now having reached his desk turned to look at them all – a rather bewildered looking Sarah included – as Scarlett said, "Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation. Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable."

"These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back." Sherlock concluded.

"Get what back?" Dimmock asked rationally.

Sherlock bit his lip and looked away angrily as John sighed, "We don't know." The doctor confessed finally after some hesitation.

"You don't know." Dimmock stated with an incredulous look on his face. "Mr. Holmes..." The young DI continued as he sat down, "I've done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something."

She couldn't help but give a small proud smile at that idea before Dimmock continued, "I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime."

* * *

Evening all,

Yet another update for you all! I still own nothing apart from the original charaters!

Thanks to: sehnsuct for favoriting and following and to Uncreditedwriter for the favourite!

As always I'm dying for feedback so please comment! :)

Your obsessed writer,

HH


	7. The Blind Banker - Part Four

The Blind Banker: Part Four

_Dimmock now having reached his desk turned to look at them all – a rather bewildered looking Sarah included – as Scarlett said, "Lukis and Van Coon were part of a…a smuggling operation. Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable."_

"_These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back." Sherlock concluded. _

"_Get what back?" Dimmock asked rationally. _

_Sherlock bit his lip and looked away angrily as John sighed, "We don't know." The doctor confessed finally after some hesitation. _

"_You don't know." Dimmock stated with an incredulous look on his face. "Mr. Holmes..." The young DI continued as he sat down, "I've done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something."_

_She couldn't help but give a small proud smile at that idea before Dimmock continued, "I gave the order for a raid. Please tell me I'll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime."_

* * *

"They'll be back in China by tomorrow." Scarlett said annoyed as the four of them entered Two-Two-One-B.

"No." Sherlock said instantly as he walked over to the photos over the fire place and began to stare at them. "They won't leave without what they came for. We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous.

Scarlett watched as Sherlock ran his fingers over the main picture of the painted brick wall, "Somewhere in this message it must tell us." He was practically talking to himself.

There was silence in the flat broke after a moment by Sarah who turned to John, "well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it."

Scarlett stayed quiet as John protested, "No, no, you have to go…" He looked around at Sherlock for confirmation, "…does she?" He turned back to Sarah eagerly, "You can stay."

All the while Sherlock and been talking simultaneously with John, "Yes, it would be to study if you left now."

John to Sherlock at dark look before he came back to Sarah, "He's kidding, please stay if you'd like."

Sarah looked at them nervously before trying a friendly approach, "Is it just me, or is anyone else starving?"

Scarlett turned away and grimaced knowing that Sherlock wouldn't like this. He never ate while he was working. As if on cue Sherlock's sighed, "Ohh, god…"

A little while later Scarlett could hear John rummaging around in the kitchen most likely looking anything edible. She sat with Sherlock in the living room at the table looking at all the photos notes and drawings that rested on the top of the surface. Sarah was trying and failing to engage them in proper conversation.

"So this is what you do, you and John and Scarlett? You solve puzzles for a living." Sarah asked vaguely.

Scarlett decided not to look at Sherlock as he replied rather tetchily, "Consulting Detective."

"Oh." Sarah said shortly. In the kitchen Scarlett could still hear John rummaging around. Sarah took it upon herself to walk over and peer at what Scarlett was looking at over shoulder.

"What are these squiggles?" Scarlett looked up from work but not at Sarah, trying to remind herself that she was in fact John's date.

"They're numbers." She replied shortly, "From an ancient Chinese dialect."

"Oh! Right! Yeah, well of course I should have known that!" Sarah replied rather sarcastically. There was something about this woman that Scarlett didn't quite like. She couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was a shame; the woman did show potential she had beaten a Chinese warrior with a broom handle not less than an hour ago.

A few moments later she heard a knock at the door and Mrs Hudson signature, "Ooh-ooh!" She had the landlady and John speak in hushed whispers for a moment before her attention was turned back to Sarah and Sherlock.

Sarah to Scarlett's horror had picked up a photo of the brick wall that Dimmock had brought back to them sealed in an evidence bag. She tried not to look at Sherlock instead preferring to imagine the bared teeth he'd likely to be sporting.

Sarah, oblivious to his rage starts to speak once more, "So these numbers – it's a cipher."

"Exactly." Sherlock replied tightly.

"…And each pair of numbers is a word." It was a statement that confused Scarlett.. How did Sarah know that?

Sherlock must have been thinking the same thing because he asked her exactly that. Sarah's reply was, "Well, two words were already translated, here." Sarah help the back to Sherlock and pointed at writing on the brick wall that had been penned on after the photo had been taken.

Sherlock called out to John, "John, look at this." Sherlock stood from the table and joined John as he exited the kitchen.

"Soo Lin, at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it!"

Sherlock read out that translated words for them all, "'Nine' 'Mill'."

"Mill?" Scarlett asked, "'Million?' Nine million quid, for what?!"

Sherlock turned to pick up his coat and scarf, "We need to figure out what the rest of the sentence says. Are you coming?" He turned to look at Scarlett who nodded instantly.

"Of course I'm coming, I can't trust you to go anywhere on your own." She replied with a smirk.

"Where are you going?" John asked them.

"To the museum; to the restoration room." Sherlock replied as he grimaced in exasperation, "It must been staring at us right in the face."

"W-what?" John looked at them both confused.

Scarlett sighed in realisation, "The book John. The book that Soo Lin used to start deciphering this message. If we can get our hands on it then we can crack this code."

"Get the code…" Sherlock started.

"…Crack the cipher." Scarlett finished.

Once they got on to Baker Street Scarlett began to look for a cab to take them to the museum. She passed a couple of tourists as she did so. They were looking at a copy of the London A-Z.

"Taxi!" She yelled as one passed by. The driver didn't stop, much to her dismay and annoyance.

She turned around and she heard a burst of angry German. It seemed Sherlock had bumped into the pair of tourists in his quest to find a taxi. She walked back over to the small party hoping to rectify some peace.

Scarlett couldn't speak German very well but she could understand it clearly enough, "Hey, you!" The German man was yelling at Sherlock, "Why don't you look at where you're going?"

Sherlock bent down to pick up the London A-Z that he must have knocked out of the man's hand, "Forgive me, please." Sherlock replied in German.

_If only he could be that polite in English._

The German man turning more than just annoyed as he muttered - still in German - to his wife, "And they say the English are supposed to be polite!"

Scarlett was about to reply, in what basic German she knew. In her opinion Sherlock had been extremely polite. But she was distracted as her uncle resumed his task of trying to hail a taxi. She was about to follow when she turned back to look at the German couple now nearly end of the road who had resumed looking at their A-Z, possibly trying to figure out the route.

A book that everybody would own…

…A…to…Z…

It's finally clicked, EVERYBODY must own a copy of London A-Z. Londoners and visiting tourists alike. Her eyes widened slightly.

She ran hastily after the tourists, hair flying out behind her in her haste, "Please, wait!" She called in English, then realising that the tourists might not realise she was in fact shouting out to them, she cried, "Please!" Again only this time in German.

The couple turned around as she ran to them quickly and look of confusion on their faces, "What do you think she wants?" She heard the man asked his wife.

Having no wish to attempt to explain her needs in broken German to the man, Scarlett quickly snatched the London A-Z from his hand. She apologised profusely as the man began to yell at her angrily. "Please, two seconds! Minute!" Minute meaning 'wait a minute' in German.

She tensed a little bit as the man began to yell at her in further German, he really wanted his book back. To her relief Sherlock had given up on his quest for a taxi and followed her up the road. He must've been glaring at the man as she looked frantically at the A-Z because he gave up yelling at her for a moment.

Scarlett rifled through the pages quickly and Sherlock said to her, "You need page fifteen, entry one." He must have caught on, then.

She nodded and turned to that page, she read the first entry aloud, "'Deadmans Lane NW9'."

"So he was threatening to kill them." Sherlock said her before he continued, "That was the first cipher: the one at the bank for Van Coon, the one left in the library for Lukis and the one left in the Museum for Soo Lin. Try the next one, page thirty-seven, entry nine."

She nodded once more and did what she was told turning to said page, "'Fore St EC2'." She read out to him. "Nine mill…for… For what Sherlock?"

"I don't know, keep going." He prompted her, "The next pair of numbers are: seventy and ninety-five."

"'Jade Cl. E16'." Scarlett replied after a second.

Sherlock repeated the word as he wrote it down on the photo of the brick wall he held in his hand, "Jade."

They continued like this for a few more minutes until they had the message fully translated, "'Nine Mill For Jade Pin Dragon Den Black Tramway…'." Scarlett finally managed to read off the message. "Finally, we can finish this."

"I agree," Sherlock said, "we need to tell John. Let's go, no time to waste."

They ran back into the flat only to find that the kitchen was completely deserted. The lights in the flat was still on and two trays sat on the table apparently abandoned. "Oh, where is he?" Sherlock asked as he brandished the London A-Z frantically.

Scarlett looked around the empty flat when she finally spotted the windows and the message scrawled across them in a familiar yellow paint, "Oh my god…"

The message 'Dead Man' had been left to them on the panes of glass in plain sight.

Sherlock instantly ran over to the bookshelf in the living room looking for a particular book in desperation. Scarlett quickly followed, seeing if she could help in anyway. After a second Sherlock pulled out, not a book but a folded map of London.

She helped him to spread it out across the already cluttered dining room table as Sherlock searched for something, the Black Tramway she presumed. After a second of looking he jammed his finger down, "Got it. Quickly," Sherlock said to her urgently, "downstairs and in a cab, now!"

She didn't even hesitate to follow his orders. She was down the stairs and out of the front door like a shot, attempting to hail a cab as though her life depended on it. Maybe it did. If something happened to John (and by extension Sarah, as John cared for her) she didn't know if she would ever be able to forgive herself.

Sherlock was right behind as she scrambled into a cab that had pulled itself up in front of her not two seconds later. Sherlock virtually yelled the destination at the cabbie as he sat down next to her in a state of horror.

"Rescue John, stop the smugglers. Rescue John, stop the smugglers." Sherlock muttered to himself in a mantra for a moment or two as a cab driver began to travel down the road.

Nearly twenty minutes later the pair of them were pressed up against the tramways tunnel wall listening to the Chinese Opera Singer, now known to them to be none other than General Shan. She was practically taunting John as he tried to convince her that he was not in fact Sherlock Holmes.

Scarlett inwardly cringed thinking back to the fact that John had tickets in Sherlock's name on his possession, that he also still held Sherlock's debit card, and that the fact was earlier that same day he had done an impression of Sherlock in annoyance. All in all trying to prove that he wasn't Sherlock when all of these things were against him was turning out to be quite difficult for the poor doctor.

"If we wanted to kill you, Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you… inquisitive." She heard Shan tell John. "So, do you have it?" The General asked John sternly.

"Do I have what?" John sounded weak, out of breath. She was probably pointing a gun at him.

"The treasure." Shan replied sharply, no longer messing around.

"I don't know what you're talking about." John said honestly. Scarlett turned to Sherlock wanting to act there and then but he held up a hand to stop her from moving.

"I would prefer to make certain." Shan replied coolly and for the first time she could hear a woman struggling and gasping; Sarah.

"Everything in the West has its price; and the price for her life..." There was a short pause, from their positions Sherlock and Scarlett were unable to see what was happening. "…information."

Sarah began to cry more frantically as Shan continued, "Where's the hairpin?"

"What?" John asked distractedly.

"The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West; and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr. Holmes, have been searching."

"Please." John was beginning to sound desperate which she didn't like at all. She looked at Sherlock and still he held her back.

"Please," John continued, "Listen to me. I'm not… I'm not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven't found whatever it is you're looking for."

"I need a volunteer from the audience!" Shan cried loudly ignoring the doctor.

"No, please. Please." John tried to reason to the General to no avail.

Scarlett heard footsteps move across the floor, "Ah, thank you, lady." Shan said and Scarlett could hear the cold smile in her voice as Sarah continued to wail, "Yes, you'll do very nicely. Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death-defying act."

"Please!" John cried.

"You've seen the act before." Scarlett heard Shan coo, presumably to Sarah, "How dull for you. You know how it ends."

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes!" John protested frantically.

"I don't believe you." Shan said shortly.

"You should, you know." Sherlock said finally signalling that they should start putting their plan into action. "Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him." Sherlock continued as Shan span on the spot.

Scarlett watched as Shan aimed a shot at Sherlock and – luckily – missed. One of the thugs working for Shan ran after Sherlock as he momentarily retreated, "How would you describe me, Scarlett? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"

She smiled as he clicked the 'C' at the end of 'enigmatic', "I think John might describe you as late." She heard her voice carry itself through the tunnel, knowing that a second thug was more than likely headed her way, which is just what they wanted.

"That's a semi-automatic." Sherlock continued to address Shan. "If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second."

"Well?" Shan asked defiantly as she held the pistol, still cocked in their general direction.

"Well..." Scarlett said as she hit the thug that was after her with a lead pipe that she had managed to pick up in the tunnel across the stomach, winding him. "…and correct me if I'm wrong Sherlock - but the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres."

"That is correct." Sherlock replied from somewhere on her left as though they were having a normal conversation and not taking down a load of Chinese smugglers.

"Meaning," Scarlett continued, "if you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you."

Sherlock then proceeded to run out and extinguish one of the only light sources in the tunnel – a burning bin – by tipping it over, making it even more difficult to see. Scarlett could see the brief panic on Shan's face as she and Sherlock both dove to get Sarah out of her bonds and away from the arrow that was close to bring fired from the mechanism.

Scarlett started on Sarah's leg ties whilst Sherlock started on the ones behind Sarah's back. Suddenly out of nowhere the man that had gone after Sherlock – Soo Lin's brother – ran up behind Sherlock and began to strangle him with a neck scarf. Scarlett cringed as Sherlock was pulled back and she heard rasping noises. Still she focused on untying Sarah's legs, glancing up to see that the counterbalance that released the arrow and the sand bag were both level meaning half of their time had elapsed.

She wouldn't have time to untie Sarah's legs and arms with Sherlock fighting off Soo Lin's brother. Scarlett turned at the sound of a crash to find that John had fallen to the floor and was struggling against his bonds. He seemed to be trying to kick his leg out, it didn't take long for her to get what he was doing. Abandoning Sarah before it was too late Scarlett dove forward and pushed the crossbow, the whole thing moved to the left just as the metal ball touched the bowl and the arrow went soring.

It hit its target with no remorse a few seconds later: Soo Lin's brother straightened up, a look of shock on his face before he looked down to see the arrow embedded firmly in his stomach. He dropped then, dead on the floor. She looked up at the sound of running and glimpsed Shan making a break for it. She had half a mind to follow but then Sarah's shock filled sobs persuaded her not to. Sherlock sat up and untied the scarf from around his neck and went to help John up as she comforted Sarah as she knelt in front of her.

"It's all over, Sarah. You're okay now." She ran a hand gently down one of her arms and gave her a small smile before going back to trying to untie her.

"Don't worry." She heard John say from where Sherlock was still trying to get him out of his seat. "Next date won't be like this." He promised. Scarlett saw Sherlock look wistfully down the tunnel as she finished untying Sarah.

They didn't have to wait long for the police to arrive to clear up everything. Dimmock was waiting by one of the police cars parked outside the tunnel entrance. Sarah and John walked in front of her and Sherlock, Sarah dawning a pink shock blanket. She smiled to them both unable to get the image of Sherlock in a similar out of her mind's eye. God that had been funny.

"We'll just slip off. No need to mention us in your report." Sherlock said to Dimmock as they passed him by.

"Mr. Holmes..." The young D.I began.

"I have high hopes for you, Inspector." Sherlock cut across him, "A glittering career."

"I'll go where you point me." Dimmock nodded, "Where both of you point me." He corrected as he looked at Scarlett and she smiled at him for the first time.

They began to walk away from him as Sherlock looked back over his shoulder and said, "Exactly."

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

The next morning the three of them were sat in the kitchen of the flat, Sherlock pouring out tea for them all.

"Ta." John thanked him as he looked at the picture of the brick wall covered in the translated message.

"Thanks, Sherlock." She said as he finished pouring hers and she went back to looking over her physics book.

"I think that's the first time I've ever seen you look at anything to do with A-levels." John said casually to her.

"Aw, well. You know, my exams are next week. I better put some more effort in." She grinned at him across the table.

He cleared his throat then, "So, 'Nine mill'..."

"Million." Sherlock corrected as he finally poured himself some tea.

"Million, yes; 'Nine million for jade pin. Dragon den, black Tramway'." John read out the message.

"An instruction to all their London operatives." Sherlock told him.

"Mmm." John hummed.

"A message; what they were trying to reclaim." Scarlett said as she read briefly over Stephen's Law in her text book.

"What, a jade pin?" John asked disbelievingly.

Sherlock nodded, "Worth nine million pounds. Bring it to the Tramway, their London hideout."

"Hang on: a hairpin worth nine million pounds?" John snorted.

"Apparently." Scarlett said with a shrug, not removing her eyes from her reading.

"Why so much?" John questioned.

"Depends who owned it." Sherlock answered before she saw him take a sip of tea from his cup.

After breakfast they made their way to the Shad to give the rather amusing news to Sebastian about the hole in his security.

"Two operatives based in London." Sherlock was saying as they entered the bank. "They travel over to Dalian to smuggle those vases. One of them helps himself to something: a little hairpin."

"Worth nine million pounds." John commented as they came out of the revolving doors.

"Eddie Van Coon was the thief. He stole the treasure when he was in China." Sherlock told them.

"How d'you know it was Van Coon, not Lukis?" Scarlett asked Sherlock, "Even the killer didn't know that."

"Because of the soap." He answered simply yet with that smug smile of his because he knew neither she nor John had no clue about what he was on about.

Sherlock went to talk to Van Coon's PA whilst she and John dealt with Sebastian.

"He really climbed up onto the balcony?" The banker asked exasperatedly as he wrote them out a cheque for twenty-thousand pounds.

"Nail a plank across the balcony window and all your problems are over." She said with a smile as Sebastian looked up at her. He didn't look pleased as he handed over the money.

"Thanks." John said earnestly.

From somewhere outside they all heard a shrill high-pitched cry of, "Nine Million?!" With that the pair of them bid Sebastian good-bye and exited his office.

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

The next morning they were all sat around the flat again and Sherlock – fully clothed but wearing his dressing gown – was reading the Sunday Express. The front page had a picture of the Jade pin which she now knew belonged to Amanda with the caption: 'Who wants to be a million-hair?"

"Over a thousand years old," Scarlett sighed as John watched her write music notes on a piece of paper, "and it's sitting on her bedside table every night."

"He didn't know its value; didn't know why they were chasing him." Sherlock said from where he sat across the room.

"Hmm. Should've just got her a lucky cat." John said after a second and Scarlett found herself laughing slightly.

"Hmm." Sherlock muttered.

She sighed as she watched his eyes become distant, "Let it go, Sherlock. I mind to but it's not worth it now."

"What?" Sherlock asked as he focused in on her.

"General Shan, she escaped. There's nothing you can do about it now."

"It's not enough that we got her two henchmen?" John asked.

Sherlock sighed and shock his head, "It must be a vast network, John; thousands of operatives. The three of us, we barely scratched the surface."

"You and Scarlett cracked the code, though, Sherlock; and maybe Dimmock can track down all of them now that he knows it."

"No. No. We cracked this code; all the smugglers have to do is pick up another book." Sherlock cleared his throat and re focused on his paper.

Scarlett let her gaze drift to the window, outside she spotted a teenager in a hoddie and cap. As she watched he spray painted a symbol on the tall black box across the other side of the street. It was one of those dispensers that gave out parking permits. She watched as the boy finished his tag and run after quickly glancing over his shoulder.

* * *

Hey!

And there you have it, 'The Blind Banker' is now complete. I have to say this is my least favourite episode. Don't get me wrong, it's still good, but it'd just... meh.

Anyway, 'The Great Game' is next which is where our favourite Irish man comes into play ;)

As always, I just own Scarlett.

Thanks to 'kittyitty6' for following this story. Please review, it'd mean a lot,

Thanks,

HH


	8. The Great Game - Part One

The Great Game: Part One

Scarlett Holmes made her way down the street, happy and contented. Not only had she solved a string of four robberies that she had been looking into over the last week. She had also been able to prevent a fifth at a pet store that evening – the only commercial hit, all the others had been houses – meaning she had gotten paid in the best possible way. She thought she deserved it regardless having had passed all her exams with flying colours.

She looked down into the box she held as she heard her creature rustling under the bedding and she started talking to him, "You and I are going to get ourselves into so much trouble you know? I can just tell."

Of course, she got no reply as she turned left onto a street about ten minutes from the flat, the cold late year air caressing her face. Even from there she heard almighty boom that signalled an explosion. "See," she told the box, "what was I just telling you?"

She ran to the source of the noise onto her familiar home street. She looked around only to see the flat next to their building completely destroyed and Two-Two-One-B's window exploded. She watched her footing, trying to avoid the brick work that had come loose. She headed for the front door gripping her box more tightly as she bolted through the doorway into the building.

She rushed up a single flight of stairs to the living room of the flat thrusting open the door to find Sherlock observing at the blown out window. "Sherlock, is everything alright? I was on my way back when I heard the explosion!"

He turned to her as she walked further into the room, "Hm..? Oh yes, fine thanks, no harm done."

"Right, okay." She said shaking her brown hair from her eyes as she looked around the apartment, "Where's John?"

"Not here." The reply came after a second of silence.

"You two had a fight didn't you? Was it about the fact that you don't know about the solar system again?" She asked with a tilt of her head, box still in hand.

He glared at her, "No."

"Yes." She smirked, "Which means he's gone to Sarah's for the night."

"Quite the deduction." He said in a clipped tone.

"I learned from the best." She caught a glimpse of a smirk as he turned to walk across the room to grab his violin whilst she admired the glassless windows. "That case is finished by the way, those string of robberies. I was right, they were eager to break the pattern. First timers wanting to show off. I caught them at it while they tried to break into that pet store near the street they'd been targeting. Not very ambitious."

"Petty criminals rarely are." He told her as he plucked at a few strings as she picked her way through the broken glass on the floor to one of the armchairs.

"One of them actually started to cry as the police turned up." Scarlett told him in a bored tone as she opened and peered into the box.

"Payment I take it." Sherlock said pointing to the box with his violin bow.

"Yes. I've been looking for a pet for that tank. The lady that ran the store was selling them." She took the creature out of its white cardboard box showing him off. "Meet Miles!" They looked at Miles as she held him, with no surface to stand on his legs rotated slowly in a walking motion.

"A Russian tortoise." Sherlock concluded whilst he looked him over. "May I ask why?"

"So when I'm busy working upstairs I have someone to talk to..." She said rolling her eyes, it really was obvious. She stood, "Well better get him settled in, be careful with the glass. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Sherlock."

"Good night, Scarlett." She nodded and left the room, Miles safely back in his box. Once she was in her room on the floor above it didn't take that long to sort Mile's home out. All of it was already set up resting on the small cabinet in her room.

-Break Line- Break Line- Break Line-

John rushed into the room much like she had the next morning, demanding whether everyone one was alright. He looked around the room – broken glass and debris still not cleared away – to the Holmes brothers, who were conversing in the armchairs. The finally to her whilst she observed the window frame again, sat down, cursing the cold as she stayed wrapped up in her coat.

"Gas leak apparently." Sherlock told him, unfazed.

"Right, are you okay though?" He asked the room's occupants as he looked around, he got nothing else from the brother's so she decided to fill the silence.

"Me? Yeah, I wasn't in the building; Mrs Hudson was downstairs so she wasn't hurt. I don't actually know where she is now, though."

He nodded, seemingly happy with this as Sherlock and Mycroft restarted their previous conversation. "I can't." Sherlock rejected.

"What do you mean you can't?" Mycroft sounded annoyed.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't even spare Scarlett."

_Yes, because you look really busy sitting there plucking on your violin strings, Sherlock._ She rolled her eyes; he'd only gotten dressed half-an-hour-ago.

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance. And as far as I'm aware you can spare Scarlett, she just told us she solved the case she was working on. Or were you to self-absorbed to notice?" Mycroft retorted.

"That's it for the robbery case then?" John asked her.

"Yes, done and dusted. One of them actually started to cry, I found it amusing." She replied nonchalantly.

"Wait until I put that on the site." John commented with a chuckle.

When Sherlock showed no sign of replying to his older brother Mycroft gave up, looking at her and John instead, "Get through to him you two."

"What?" She asked as she got up and went to inspect the damaged window before turning back to him, pulling her coat to her more securely.

"If you can't get through to him, what makes you think we can?" She wondered out loud.

"Because you both understand him."

She looked at John, "Sometimes I wonder..." The doctor commented.

"If this case is oh so important to you brother dearest," drawled Sherlock lazily, "why don't you investigate it yourself?"

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly, not with the Korean elections so..." Scarlett looked at the man sharply keen for the inside information on government happenings. It seemed she wasn't the only one as John looked at the man quizzically and Sherlock even stopped plucking the strings of his violin to glance at the government official.

"Not that you need to know anything about that." He amended quickly, the tone of his voice clearly told them not to ask anything more on the subject matter.

"That and working a case requires leg work..." Mycroft looked at Sherlock, clearly affronted as the younger brother said this.

"How's Sarah, John? Did you enjoy sleeping on the lilo?" Sherlock asked the doctor trying to change the subject as Scarlett spotted the mentioned man rub a crick in his neck.

Scarlett and Mycroft both sighed, "It was the sofa..." Mycroft got up and started to walk around the room.

Sherlock gave John a once over seemingly prepared to argue when he finally said, "Ah. Yes, of course."

"I don't even want to know how you all know that..." John sighed grudgingly.

Mycroft decided to sit down on the sofa, John quickly followed suit as the older of the two men started conversationally, "So, Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became...pals."

Scarlett looked across the room in time to see Sherlock throw his older brother a darkened look. She was sure that if looks could kill Mycroft would surely be dead.

"What's he like to live with?" Mycroft continued, "Hellish, I imagine."

She found herself scoffing; if this was Mycroft's version of hell then he must be sorely misinformed.

"I'm never bored, that's for sure." John smiled clearly thinking of what they had been getting up to lately.

"Good! That's good, isn't it? Did you know Scarlett picked Sherlock over me just so she wouldn't be bored?"

Sherlock again glared at him, affronted by the idea that the only reason Scarlett had picked him over Mycroft was for her own entertainment.

"Don't listen to him, Sherlock; he hasn't a clue what he's on about." She called over to him reassuringly.

Mycroft stood up picking up a folder he had placed on the coffee table as Sherlock started to wave the bow of his violin through the air in front of him. Mycroft tried to pass Sherlock the folder but the latter, ever the stubborn, refused to take it. Sighing as he realised his efforts were futile he turned to Scarlett handing her the file instead.

"Andrew West. Known as Westie to his friends." He started as she took the file from his hands.

"He's a civil servant. He was found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."

"Did he jump in front of a train?" John asked puzzled.

"No," Scarlett replied instantly, "Mycroft wouldn't be here for a mere suicide."

Out of the corner of her eye she caught Sherlock smirking as he polished his violin.

"The M.O.D." Mycroft supplied for them, "is working on a new missile defence system – The Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called." She opened the file and started to flick through it.

"The plans for it were on a memory stick." She openly started to laugh as John quietly snickered.

"Great move, uncle." Her earnest was steeped in sarcasm. She looked up from the file briefly to catch Sherlock smiling in agreement.

"It's not the only copy." Mycroft retorted in a sickly-sweet tone of superiority. "It is however," he continued, "top secret."

"Right and this is a concern to us because...?" She asked as, with the folder still open in one hand, she began to walk around the room.

"We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands."

"Right, okay... government work. Urgh, it bores me." She complained.

Mycroft looked at her, then to Sherlock and back again. "You've got to find those plans. Don't make me order you... Either of you."

She heard Sherlock's sharp intake of breath as he got ready to play his violin again. She flicked through the pages of the file, despite her dramatic protests she was genuinely intrigued.

"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock commented smugly as Mycroft walked over to him the eldest brother tried his best to look intimidating. Sherlock didn't even blink.

"You must think it over." Mycroft insisted as he turned to shake John's hand, whilst Sherlock began to play sharp, irritating notes on his violin strings. "Goodbye John. I'll be seeing you very soon."

She smiled at John's unsettled look as Mycroft walked towards the door which she held open, the case file _still_ in her hand.

"Goodbye, dearest niece. If you ever change your mind, you know where I'll be."

"Oh don't worry, I won't. See you soon I guess, Uncle Mycroft." They nodded to each other and then the government worker left.

"Why'd you lie?" John looked at Sherlock questioningly. Downstairs she heard the front door shut.

"You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding." John accused.

"Sorry? The wall took a what...?" Scarlett asked, surprised.

John pointed to the wall that the settee was up against. There in bright yellow paint - the one used for the tag graffiti in the banker case, she realised - was a smiley face with bullet holes for eyes.

She stared wide-eyed. She looked at Miles who was crawling around on the floor. Maybe she should move him upstairs quickly, who knew what Sherlock would want to use as his next target practise?

"You're about as busy as Miles, Sherlock." Scarlett walked over to her uncle with the file in hand, dropping it on the table while the tortoise in question pulled himself over slowly to inspect his water bowl.

"Oh! Sibling rivalry!" John shared his revelation as the answer to his question finally hit him. "Now I get it. What on earth would you two have to argue about, though?"

Sherlock looked at her and she pointedly turned away, "Leave it, Sherlock."

He went to say something but his mobile rang at that moment. He stood, removed the phone from his jacket pocket and answered with a: "Sherlock Holmes."

He listened for a moment looking at her while the person on the other end talked. Whatever they had said made Sherlock's eyes intensify with excitement.

"Of course. How could we refuse?"

He promptly hung up the phone, abandoned his violin and headed towards the front door. "Lestrade wants us, come on."

She ran for the door to the flat, passing Sherlock in an attempt to get out of the flat quickly, praying that the police and news reporter had left by now.

The taxi ride was a sort one and soon the trio were exiting the cab and entering New Scotland Yard. Where they began to follow a rather – in her opinion – cryptic Detective Inspector Lestrade across the police floor towards his private office. She caught Donovan's eye and they had a brief glaring contest, one she was sure she could have won if Lestrade hadn't have interrupted.

"You like the strange cases, don't you?" He asked Sherlock.

"Of course." Sherlock replied.

"Then you'll love this. That explosion ..."

"Gas leak." She stated in interruption.

"Nope," Lestrade countered smugly, "it was made to look like one."

"What? Why?" John asked startled as they walked into Lestrade's office.

Lestrade walked around the back of his desk and sat down while everyone else decided it was best to remain standing. Her keen eyes spotted a white envelope on his desk with 'Sherlock' written in black ink across the front of it.

"There was barley anything left in that explosion bar a strong box –"

"- A _very_ strong box." John interrupted the Detective Inspector.

"Well yeah," Lestrade agreed, "and this was inside." Scarlett watched as Lestrade pushed the envelope across the desk towards Sherlock.

"You haven't opened it?" He asked.

"Well no, it's addressed to you isn't it?" The man countered.

Sherlock stretched his hand out for the envelope, picked it up and traced his inked name with the index finger of his left hand.

"We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped." Lestrade told them.

Sherlock hesitated before replying sarcastically, "How reassuring."

She watched him walk across to another desk in the room that had one of those lamps that could move and readjust – anglepoise she thought they were called. He switched it on and held the envelope to the bulb.

"Bohemian." She heard him say quietly, "Nice."

"Sorry, what?" Lestrade asked clueless.

"Bohemian stationary is from the Czech Republic. Expensive." Scarlett supplied for the others in the room. "No fingerprints?" She asked.

"No." Lestrade and Sherlock both replied.

"Come here." Sherlock called.

Scarlett instantly headed across to the other side of the room to join him, he handed her the envelope so she could have her own look.

"She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib." She reeled off after examining it closely for a few seconds.

"'She'?" John asked.

"Obviously." Sherlock said placing a hand on her shoulder in order to keep examining the cream paper which held his name.

"Well obviously." She smirked slightly at the note of irritation in the doctor's voice.

Scarlett watched as Sherlock picked up a letter opener from the desk, took the envelope from her and carefully slit it open. He looked inside and his mouth opened a little in surprise as he reached in and took out a pink iPhone, holding it aloft for the whole room to see.

"But that's – that's the phone, the pink phone." John looked as bewildered as she felt.

"What, from the Study in Pink?" Lestrade asked bemused.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like…" He stopped mid-flow turning to face the DI as Donovan came into the office, files in hand placing them on Lestrade's desk.

"The Study in Pink? You read his blog?" Sherlock asked exasperated.

"Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" There was a trace of teasing in the man's voice that Scarlett didn't like.

She turned to glare at Donovan as she caught her snickering. Sherlock snapped off his gloves and stared accusingly at John – who had pursed his lips in embracement. To her silent relief Donovan made a quick exit allowing them to once again concentrate at the task at hand.

"It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new." Sherlock observed before handing the device to her.

"The connection sockets for the charger and USB accessories aren't scratched. Someone went through a lot of trouble to make this look like the exact phone so–" Scarlett trailed off.

"–So, that blog of yours has a far bigger readership than you realise, John." Sherlock finished her sentence.

Sherlock and she both looked at John accusingly as he did his best to ignore them. Sherlock gave up looking at the doctor for a moment and decided to switch on the phone. Almost instantly there was a shrill noise announcing the arrival of a voice mail.

When Sherlock played the message no one spoke, instead there was the unmistakable sound of the Greenwich Time Signal or 'Greenwich pips'. Five short pips and a longer sixth one rang out into the room before silence descended.

"Is that it?" John asked after a short dramatic pause. Scarlett had to admit she was disappointed.

"No. That's not it." Sherlock said in a hushed tone. She looks at the phone and saw a picture on the screen, Lestrade came out from behind his desk to look at the picture too. The scene was of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall. The wallpaper was peeling and there was a tall mirror propped up in one corner. A smaller mirror – the type which was usually hung up above a fireplace – was standing on the mantelpiece.

"And what the hell are we supposed to make of that?" Lestrade demanded. "An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!"

Sherlock seemed not to hear him as he stared blankly into the space in front of him, "It's a warning."

"A warning?" John repeated nonplussed.

Her brain automatically kicked it up a notch regurgitating information almost without coherent thought, "Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again."

Sherlock nodded in agreement, "And I'll tell you something else, I've seen this place before." He began to wave the phone around as he went to leave the office.

"H-hang on." John called as he went to follow him, "What's gonna happen again?"

Scarlett spun on her heel, waving her arms around dramatically in Lestrade's office before going to tail after Sherlock, "BOOM!"

-Break Line - Break Line - Break Line-

They made their way back to Baker Street; Lestrade included, but instead of heading for the flat upstairs Sherlock made a detour heading for Mrs. Hudson's front door. He turned to his left at the last second however and Scarlett realised that he was heading to the third apartment in the basement.

"Mrs Hudson!" She jumped slightly having been stood next to Sherlock as he shouted for their landlady. Moments later Mrs. Hudson appeared from behind her door and passed Sherlock a set of keys.

"But Sherlock dear, you had a look down their when you first came to see the flat. You didn't like it, unless you want to move Scarlett down there, there's no point in looking again." The landlady said reasonably.

"Mrs Hudson, I refuse point blank to stay in the basement." Scarlett defended herself.

"No," Sherlock said examining the padlock, "You're not moving to the basement. This locks been opened recently."

"No, can't be. That's the only key." Mrs Hudson shook her head.

She watched as the padlock was removed and Sherlock unlocked the actual basement door. "I can't get anyone interested in this place, It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements." Mrs Hudson nodded knowingly.

Scarlett followed Sherlock into the basement and muted out the kindly landlady's further rambling. Reaching the bottom of the basement stairs she followed Sherlock into the would-be living room area, John and Lestrade close behind them.

She starred at the sight in front of her; she hadn't been with Sherlock when he originally came to check out Baker Street so she was surprised to see that the room in front of her was the exact same room in the photo on Jennifer Wilson's doppelganger phone. Well, exactly the same with the addition of a pair of shoes in the centre of the floor.

"Shoes." John decided to state the obvious.

Sherlock started to walk towards them but John held out a cautionary hand towards him, "He's a bomber, remember."

Sherlock stopped for a moment before he continued slowly towards the trainers. Her brow furrowed, she recognised those trainers, hadn't she seen them in a case file somewhere? He crouched down, then put his hands on the floor and leant forward. Lowering his body down he moved closer to the shoes and, just as his nose is almost touching them, the pink phone began to ring. Everybody jumped slightly; Sherlock closed his eyes momentarily and then stood up, pulled off his glove and took the iPhone from his coat pocket and looked at the caller I.D.

She could see from where she stood beside him that the number was blocked. She watched him hesitate before he finally answered the phone putting it on loudspeaker.

"Hello?" Sherlock's voice was soft, quiet.

Whoever was on the other end of the phone drew a shaky breath before replying, "H-hello… sexy."

Scarlett exchanged puzzled looks with the men in the room; the woman's voice was tearful and shaky as she sobbed.

"Who is this?" Sherlock asked.

"I've…sent you…a little puzzle...just to say hi." The woman, whoever she was, was still overcome with sobs.

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?" He asked and Scarlett looked at him, silently asking if she could speak, he seemed to understand. He nodded and gestured for her to come over.

"I-I'm not...crying...I'm typing...and this...stupid...bitch...is reading it out." The sentence was almost incoherent through the sobs.

"So, you have a hostage and you're using her to speak, why? Too scared to do so yourself?" As much as she loved working cases she drew a personal line when innocent people became involved.

"Scarlett…I-Is that you? I-I wondered when h-he'd… stop hiding you. S-such a pretty f-face…doesn't d-deserve to be h-hidden." The women sobbed again as she finished reading out the message.

"And the curtain rises." She looked at Sherlock alarmed.

"What?" John sounded disturbed.

"Nothing." Sherlock replied looking down at Scarlett, she had a horrible feeling about this case.

"No," John demanded, "what did you mean?"

"I've been expecting this for some time." Sherlock replied.

All Scarlett could think about was the case with the cabbie, the epic conclusion to 'A Study in Pink'.

-Flashback-

_She watched stunned as Sherlock took the heel of his shoe and ramped it into the dying man's wound. "Sherlock!" She cried._

"_A name, give me one. Now! You said someone was interested in my niece!" Still there came no reply, only a painful whining._

"_A NAME!" He demanded again, if she didn't know any better she'd say he was a mad man possessed, with one final push the man relented with a scream that made her blood curdle:_

"_MORIARTY!" _

_The older man stilled and she knew he was dead._

"_Are you going to tell me what the hell that was about?!" She demanded._

-Present-

"Moriarty. Is this him?" She asked pulling herself from her thoughts.

"Yes, I think so." Sherlock replied he didn't break her gaze as the women on the other end of the phone began to speak again.

"C-clever girl, Scarlett. I-I always knew y-you would be. Twelve hours to solve…my puzzle, Sherlock." There was a pause as the woman was wracked with sobs again, "Or I'm going…to be…so very naughty." The phone cut off and there is nothing in the room but tense silence.

-Break Line - Break Line - Break Line-

They were working furiously in the lab at Bart's. Sherlock had brought the trainers with them into the lab and was wearing a pair of latex gloves as he closely examined them. She watched him pick them up from a distance not wanting to get in the way of his work. There was too much at stake if something went wrong. He carefully studied the laces and peered at the shoes from all directions and angles, then, digging out mud from the treads in the soles he places it onto a dish. With this done he lowered the trainers onto the table next to them gazing at them thoughtfully.

Sometime had passed and John had joined them in the lab, she watched him pace up and down the length of one of the work benches. She looked at the computer screen that Sherlock was working with to discover he was running tests on the phone while he peered through a microscope.

"So, who d'you suppose it was?" John interrupted the silence of the room.

Sherlock's text alert went off but he ignored it, not even flinching, "Hmm?"

"The woman on the phone – the crying woman."

"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there." Scarlett frowned; she knew John wasn't thinking about leads.

"That's not what I meant!" John cried exasperatedly.

"You're not going to be much use to her." Sherlock conceded.

Scarlett watched as he kept glancing across to the scanner as it continued to declare a mix of mismatches on the tests being run.

"Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?" She couldn't help but notice John's voice sounded hopeful.

"No, the bomber's too smart for that." Sherlock shot down the idea quickly as his phone went off again. She looked around for it but couldn't see it.

"Pass me my phone." He said, still focused on his microscope.

"Where is it?" Her voice cracked slightly from the lack of use and she cleared her throat loudly.

"In my jacket." He replied simply.

"The one you're wearing?" John asked disbelievingly. Sherlock just nodded.

John shot her a look clearly saying 'No, don't do it.' She just rolled her eyes and went to get Sherlock his phone. She walked forward placing a hand on his shoulder and, opening his jacket, she searched for his phone, glad that she was actually doing something.

"Careful." He cautioned.

"I am being careful." She looked at the phone screen, "It's from Mycroft."

"Just delete it. The missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it."

She stepped away from him and opened the text anyway: 

RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS

Any progress on Andrew West's death?

Mycroft

"Well, Mycroft thinks otherwise. He's texted you eight times." She told him.

"Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" Sherlock questioned her.

"Alright, fair point." She conceded.

"Sorry, what?" John asked.

Sherlock turned to John and said, "Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look it's obvious, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?" He turned back to studying his microscope.

"You'll have to excuse him; he gets really engrossed in the interesting cases." She told John in way of explanation for Sherlock's behaviour as she switched his phone off, not bothering to reply Mycroft.

"Just please try and remember there's a woman here who might die."

"And that will help how?" Sherlock asked not phased. Scarlett couldn't help the small hiss that escaped her lips; he could be so oblivious sometimes.

Sherlock turned to them both, "This hospital's full of people dying, doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

She let out a long and heavy sigh while John decided to go with the completely disbelieving look. "Ah!" Sherlock cried, interrupting their thoughts. His computer screen she noticed was now flashing with the words:

Search Complete.

His celebrations were interrupted by Molly who decided to walk into the lab at that moment the door swinging shut behind her.

"Any luck?" She asked them timidly.

"Oh, yes!" Sherlock cried happily.

Molly began to walk over to investigate the computer screen when a man stumbled into the lab. Scarlett gives him a quick once over she noted he looked to be in his early thirties to mid-thirties. He wore black slacks and a white T-shirt and was clearly taken with his personal appearance:

Gay.

_Not that there's anything wrong with that. _

The sad thing was it looked like that Molly was totally clueless _and_ had a massive thing for him, rivalling her infatuation of Sherlock. Poor Molly Hooper just couldn't catch a break.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't..." The man started apologetically, Scarlett just smiled and shrugged at him.

"Jim! Hi!" Molly called enthusiastically as the man called Jim made to leave the room.

"No, it's okay! Come in! Come in!" Scarlett caught Sherlock's gaze for a second and her eyes widened in amusement.

The door to the lab finally swung shut as Molly began to introduce everyone, "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah!" He exclaims excitedly and Scarlett had to turn away quickly to stifle her laughter, Jim had a thing for Sherlock, it was clear as anything.

She turned back in time to see Molly look blankly at John, "And, uh... sorry." She sounded apologetic.

"John Watson. Hi."

"Hi." Jim said politely although it was clear that Jim was still fixated on Sherlock his eyes borrowing into his back.

In a casual London accent he began to speak to Sherlock's back, "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

Scarlett grinned to herself as she watched Jim walk towards Sherlock and slip a piece of paper under one of his petri dishes, unnoticed by Molly.

"Jim works in I.T. upstairs." Molly said in a love struck tone. "That's how we met. An office romance." The pair of them started to giggle sickly sweet together; she knew Sherlock wouldn't even need to turn around in order to confirm his deduction.

Sure enough it came seconds later, "Gay."

Molly's smile faded slightly and Scarlett's eyes widened, "Sorry, what?" The young woman asked.

"Um, nothing Molly! He was just saying 'hey', you know Sherlock, always muttering to himself while he's working!" Scarlett jumped in to save the poor girl's feelings and Jim looked at her properly for the first time.

"Oh my gosh! You're her!" He declared pointing at her, "Scarlett Holmes!" He rushed forward to shake her hand, or at least that's what she thought was going to happen until she was engulfed in a tight bear hug.

She felt her eyes widen comically as she looked at the other three adults in the room over Jim's shoulder, all of them looking just as shocked as she felt, "Did you know," Jim started to ramble as he pulled away from her, "I love you? I mean wow!" He pulled back before saying, "I mean congratulations! I'm sooo proud of you!"

She took an active step back feeling a mixture of confusion and obscenity, "Sorry Jim, but congratulations for what?"

"Oh like you don't know?" He laughed again, not waiting for a reply before he said, "'The Commercial Hit.' It was like instantly one of my favourites and it only went up late last night."

"The commercial what?" She looked around floundering before she caught John's eye, he quickly looked away, embarrassment evident in his body language.

"You know, on John's blog?"

"Huh," Sherlock finally spoke, "like I was saying earlier, John, your little blog has a much wider audience than you thought."

"'The Commercial Hit' is what I called that case you solved last night. It was your first big solo case; I thought it – you – deserved a catchy title." John told her sheepishly avoiding her eye contact.

She was speechless again for the second time as Jim walked backwards away from her, "Well, I'd better be off." He turned his attention back to Molly, "I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout six-ish?"

"Yeah, okay!" She sounded happy enough but Scarlett could tell that the 'gay' comment from Sherlock hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Bye." He said sweetly as he turned to leave the room. Molly said bye back to him as he turned to Sherlock, "It was nice meeting you." Sherlock ignored him.

"_Both _of you." He gave Scarlett a small wave subtly gesturing to the side of his body, she realised that where he was gesturing on his torso was where her coat pocket was. She slipped her hand inside and sure enough found a piece of paper that hadn't been there before, she smiled at him and he gave a wider grin back.

"Uh, yeah, you too." John filled in the awkward silence as Jim left.

Molly tactfully waited until the door had closed fully on Jim and then turned to Sherlock, "What d'you mean, gay? We're together."

Sherlock looked at her casually, "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two and a half." Molly defied him stoutly.

"Nuh, three." Sherlock said with an air of finality.

"Sherlock…" Scarlett tried to be reproachful. The girl had just learned that her boyfriend was in fact gay, the last thing she needed was to have her weight gain highlighted.

"He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil...? He's not." She sounded close to tears and Scarlett grimaced.

"With _that_ level of personal grooming?" Sherlock questioned with fake bewilderment.

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?" Scarlett tried to salvage what little bit of dignity Molly had left.

"Yeah Sherlock," John, thankfully catching on to her idea tagged on quickly, "I mean I put product in my hair."

"No, you wash your hair. There's a difference. Tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His underwear?" Molly asked, sounding already defeated.

He looked at Scarlett to finish off the deduction but there was no way she was going to have a hand in this. He sighed at her unwillingness and continued, "Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand. That," He reached out for the petri dish, lifting it up to reveal the piece of paper with a phone number, "plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish. I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

All Molly did was stare at him for a moment before running at full speed out of the room while holding her face in her hands, Scarlett heard her first sobs before the door had fully shut.

Sherlock looked genuinely surprised at her reaction; she knew he thought he was doing her a favour.

"Charming." John said in mocking celebratory tone, "Well done."

"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?"

"'Kinder'? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind."

Sherlock looked fed up with the conversation and turned to John, adamant that he was going to change the topic being discussed. He handed a trainer to John, "Go on, then."

John made a noise in the back of his throat in order to air his confusion, "Go on. See if you can get anything from it." Sherlock said brandishing the trainer at him. She watched him lean back, fold his arms and wait to see what John would come out with.

"No. I don't think I will." John sounded defiant.

"Go on." Sherlock began to insist.

"No, I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate..." John began to argue and she leant against one of the labs multiple work benches, settling in for the boy's verbal sparring match.

"An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to us." Sherlock interrupted the doctor in mid protest.

"Yeah, right. 'Useful'. And you say 'us' as in you and Scarlett," he waved an arm in her direction, "but she hasn't actually done anything while we've been here bar relaying your phone messages and getting squeezed to death, no offence." He finished by apologising and turning to look at her.

"No taken. I actually _AM_ pretty bored, look I think I'll go and find Molly, try to rectify any damage you caused the poor girl." She looked over her shoulder to them both as she made to exit the room, "Text me if anything changes."

It didn't take her that long to find Molly, huddled in a cafeteria chair on a two-seater table nursing a coffee. She got herself one and walked over, "Molly? Mind if I join you?"

The Pathologist looked up clearly startled but she melded her features quickly into a false smile, "No, of course not."

"Look," Scarlett started taking the plastic chair opposite her, "I'm sorry for just now, god only knows how much Sherlock can be so insensitive. That wasn't the way I would have told you."

Molly sighed heavily and looked at her, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes threating to over spill and smug her mascara, "Why can't I ever find someone?" She finally asked sounded dejected.

"You will Molly, you will. Just not Jim, okay? I mean, god that guy was screaming gay! I mean did you see how well his arse was shown off in those slacks. That should have been a massive alert right there!" She joked, a genuine smile crossing her face and to her delight her efforts paid off as Molly gave a shaky laugh.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, god, you're so smart, I wish–"

"Now, we'll have none of that! You're perfect the way you are Molly Hooper and I don't want you to change a single bit."

Her text alert sounded; taking her phone out of her pocket she saw it was a message from Sherlock. All it said was:

'Carl Powers.

S.H'

"Look Molly, I have to go, but you have my number, contact me sometime about something that isn't to do with Bart's." She got up and stretched.

"Don't feel too bad about Jim, okay? I'll see you soon." She started to walk away, looking back over her shoulder she could see that she had left Molly with a small, satisfied smile on her face.

* * *

Hi guys!

I apologise for the lack of updates but I've been busy, busy, busy! Went on holiday, received my A-level results, got into uni. I'm part way through packing my bedroom up getting ready to leave :)

Any way!

As always: I OWN NOTHING!

Hope you enjoyed part 1 of 'The Great Game'. Review for me? :)

Thanks,

HH


	9. The Great Game - Part Two

The Great Game: Part Two

"_Now, we'll have none of that! You're perfect the way you are Molly Hooper and I don't want you to change a single bit." _

_Her text alert sounded; taking her phone out of her pocket she saw it was a message from Sherlock. All it said was:_

'_Carl Powers._

_S.H'_

* * *

She made her way out of the hospital to meet Sherlock and John to see that they already had a cab, Sherlock was looking impatient so she picked up her pace and quickly got in.

"In Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident." Sherlock began to say before she had even shut the door to the cab.

He turned his phone toward her and John to reveal a cyber-version of the media coverage. "You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?" He said looking at John, "And you," he said looking at her, "weren't even born yet."

"No," She said shaking her head, "but I do remember reading the case file you built on it. Not bad for a teenager."

"A teenager?–" John asked.

"– Barley –" Sherlock interrupted.

"–You started young, didn't you?" John concluded.

"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head." Sherlock continued his tale ignoring John's comment.

"What? What was wrong with the case?" John shrugged slightly as he asked the question.

"The shoes." Scarlett deducted. When she had read the case file she had noticed that Sherlock had stuck a sticky note on the file, reminding him not to forget about the only missing article of clothing from Powers' gym locker on the day of his death – his shoes. Add that with the original limited edition trainers that they had found in the basement and… "You think you've finally found Carl Powers' shoes."

Sherlock reached down to the floor of the cab to grab a bag, he took out one of Powers' shoes and handed it to her, "Yes."

He sank back into his seat, gazing at the phone, looking lost in his thoughts. Scarlett shot a glance at John before taking her phone out to check the time. There was six hours to go before that women exploded.

Once they were back in the flat Sherlock shut himself in the kitchen with everything he had on Carl Powers. She didn't want to help him, that case was his first after all and she had not right to intrude. If, however he asked for her assistance she would willingly give it. She slung herself over her favourite armchair taken to observing John pace up and down the apartment floor; he'd wear a hole in the carpet if he wasn't careful.

"John, stop. There's nothing you can do."

He looked at her, "I want to help, there's only five hours left, Scarlett."

"I know," she said as her phone beeped, "but you pacing around like an expectant father won't help his progress." She took her phone from her pocket and her hand brushed against the unopened note Jim had given her. She looked at her phone first; it was a message from Mycroft. She ignored it.

"From Mycroft. I really can't be bothered right now, uncle dearest."

Shortly after John's phone rang out, he took it out perplexed, "I've got one from him too! It says: 'Any developments?'…Wait...How did he get my number?"

She shrugged finally removing the note from Jim to read it, "It's Mycroft, he's the government. You'll learn to live with it."

"And that doesn't bother you at all, Mycroft sticking his nose in everything?"

"To an extent yes," She said opening the note and scanning it quickly before discarding it on the coffee table – It was just Jim's number. She took a deep cleansing breathe before refocusing her attention back on John, "but then I bother him in return."

John gave a snort, obviously imagining Scarlett bothering Mycroft, "I used to terrorise him the most when he used to pull me out of the boarding house for the day. 'Come with me' he said when we first met, 'I'll make your life better than this.'"

-Flashback-

She sat there ankles crossed, waiting for her 'special' visitor. She never got visitors and unlike most of the other kids in the place, she had never entertained the idea that her parents might swoop in and save her one day. Apologising and telling her how her abandonment was all one big mistake.

Not that she paid much attention to the other kids anyway, already at ten she was too smart for them to handle. She looked around the room they had placed her in. Small and cramped but well looked after; it reminded her of a waiting room. She supposed right then that that was exactly what it was.

The door opened and her attention immediately shifted to the man in the doorway. He was tall, wore an expensive suit and had fair reseeding hair, with an umbrella – of all things – under his arm. She kept his gaze while he walked over and sat down opposite her, not even bothering to introduce himself.

"Good afternoon. Good day at school?"

She wondered why this man was even bothering to talk to her, he looked far too important to waste his time on a child. Not that that's what she considered herself to be. Still she humoured him with an answer, "It was dull. They never teach anything new, it's never a challenge."

He considered her for a second, eyebrows raised before saying, "Is that what you like? A challenge?"

She nodded the once.

"I know someone like you; he likes to be challenged too. He's a lot older than you though, twenty-four."

"Is he good?"

"He likes to think he is. So how about it, Miss Madisyn?"

She didn't ask how he knew her name, there was no point, obviously the institution had told him, "How about what, sir?"

"Come with me and your life will be turned into one big challenge. A puzzle. A game. You're better than the life that has already been planned out for you."

She looked at him for a second, unable to fathom his end game, "Okay."

_What did she really have to lose?_

"Excellent. Down to business then: you can't be called 'Emilia Madisyn' anymore. I must change it for you legally. I'll let you pick out the name, not the surname mind, that's already been taken care of."

"My name is all I have, sir."

"If you do this, you'll have much more than a name, I promise you."

She silently deliberated his proposal, her name was the only thing that was truly hers in this place, the one thing people couldn't change or touch, "Fine," she said after a moment's pause, "I'll compromise."

The man raised his eyebrow clearly surprised that he was being challenged by a ten-year-old, "Oh?"

"Yes," She raised one of her own eyebrows, returning the man's challenge, "I'll become Emilia Madisyn Scarlett legally, but you only have to address me as Scarlett."

"Very well, we'll leave at once." He said as he stood up, stretched out his arm and gestured to the door, "Welcome to the world Emilia Madisyn Scarlett Holmes."

-Present-

"It must have been tough, growing up in care. Not knowing who your parents were. Not knowing who _you_ were." John whispered, she came back to the room and focused on him. He had taken to the armchair opposite watching her intently as she had told him of her and Mycroft's first encounter, she wondered briefly if he felt like his therapist.

"I never knew any different. I never got on with the other kids, I kept myself to myself. As for my parents, well, I was put into care for a reason and I wasn't about to entertain the idea that they were about rush back and collect me so we could play happy families. They're identities were never a thing I sought out."

She smiled at the doctor, the smile was small and soft, "And don't worry John, whoever I was, that doesn't compare to who I am right now. Emilia Madisyn Scarlett Holmes. Not too shabby, eh?"

"No," He agreed, a big smile spreading across his face reaching his eyes, "no, it's definitely not shabby."

Just then the kitchen door opened interrupting Scarlett and John's conversation, "Sherlock, Mycroft's not giving up on this whole missile thing." She sighed.

"I know, that's actually what I came to talk to you about."

She covered her face with her hand, "Sherlock, why do I feel like you're about to ask me to do the unthinkable?"

"Because I'm about to ask you to do the unthinkable." She peeked through her fingers and saw his face plastered in that big fake smile of his.

-Break line - Break line - Break line-

She shifted uncomfortably in her dress suit, the things she did for Sherlock. She sat, much like she had in that first meeting with Mycroft with her ankles crossed waiting in the supposedly intimidating office for the fore mentioned man to enter. She was getting irritated, this was the last thing she needed, a women was going to die – taking god knows how many people with her – in less than five hours.

Mycroft finally entered holding a file in his hand, "Ah, Scarlett, there you are. I was hoping one of you would see sense eventually."

She nodded her greeting having briefly stood while he walked around to sit behind his desk. "I do take it you are in fact here about the missile case?"

"Yes, of course, it is after all as you say 'a matter of national importance'."

He placed the file on his desk while she began to speak, "Sherlock sent me over to get more information on the plans. He's working right now you see, not on this. He's rather tied up at the moment, he has less than a five hours deadline and the stakes are too high."

"Are they now?" He asked conversationally he tried to smile but ended up grimacing, clutching the side of his mouth in pain.

"Yes. We're talking bombs strapped to a living, breathing woman."

"How charming."

"Quite." She replied sarcastically. "So anything you can give me to make this case easier would be appreciated to say the least. For instants, what more can you tell me about Andrew West?"

Mycroft stood and walked around to her side of the desk, leaning on it so he was barley an arm's length away from her, "He was twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross - MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies…"

"Girlfriend?" She asked.

"Fiancée." He corrected, "The last time she saw him was at ten-thirty last night."

"He was found on the Battersea tracks, yeah? But he didn't get on the train?"

"Correct, he had his Oyster Card on him, but it hadn't been used." He gripped the side of his face again, his face contorted in pain, "I have pain killers if you need…"

"No, no, no need. Just the nerves reawakening from my damned root canal." He waved off her offer with his hand.

"Ew, nasty. You should learn to take better care of your teeth, uncle."

"Quite." He said with a grimace.

"So, he didn't use his Oyster Card. Any ticket on the body?" She returned to the topic at hand.

"None."

"So how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea?" She pondered.

"That's the question I was rather hoping Sherlock could answer."

"Like I said, he's predisposed right now, you'll have to deal with me I'm afraid."

"I'm sure I'll live." He replied causally.

-Break line - Break line - Break line-

"Clostridium botulinum!" The yell rang out through the apartment interrupting her line of thought on the case of Andrew West.

Not two seconds later Sherlock came hurtling into the living room where she was working, "Carl Powers!" He shouted at her.

"He was murdered then?" She asked looking up from the information she had spread out in front of her.

"Yes!"

"Wait, what?" John asked who was sitting at the other end of the room, "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Clostridium botulinum is one of the rarest poison's on Earth, no cure and practically undetectable even if you're looking for it." Scarlett reeled off instantly.

Sherlock held up a pair of laces, "The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

"Which is why you couldn't originally find the shoes, because there would have been traces of the poison laced cream still in them, they had to be removed." She realised.

Sherlock lifted his arm and pointed to her, "Exactly."

He rushed over to his computer and started to type; she walked over and found that he was typing his deduction up to load onto the site, presumably so this Moriarty could see it.

"That means though, Moriarty – whoever he is – must be the one controlling the bombers because, let's face it only the killer of Carl Powers would have the shoes after all this time." She reasoned.

Just then the pink phone began to ring; Sherlock picked it up and answered it quickly putting it on loud speaker. "Well done, you. Come and get me." The sobbing woman said.

"Where are you? We'll get you as soon as possible." Scarlett asked.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

Scarlett walked into Lestrade's office the next morning before Sherlock and John, "Morning Greg." She greeted.

"Hey, Scarlett, you alright?"

"Yeah thanks, yourself?" She placed one of the two coffee cups she was holding on his desk for him.

"Yeah, I'm good, ah thanks." His eyes widened in surprise.

"Don't look so shocked, I'm terrible before my first coffee in the morning; don't know a single person who isn't." She smiled at him as Sherlock and John entered.

"So that's why you left early? To get Lestrade coffee, where's _my_ coffee?" Sherlock sounded like a pouting child.

"You'll live I'm sure. Right now we have more pressing matters. I want to know who that woman was." She pressed.

"She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house." Lestrade informed her.

Scarlett made her way to one of the side desks in the room and perched on it. While Sherlock walked towards Lestrade's desk and John just hung back.

"She was told," Lestrade continued, "to phone you. She had to read out from this pager."

The detective pulled out a pager from his desk draw and presented it to Sherlock and John. John walked forward to take a look at the device.

"And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off." Sherlock concluded.

"Or if you hadn't solved the case." John added.

Sherlock headed to the window, gazing out over London, "Oh. Elegant." She heard Sherlock say to himself.

"'Elegant'?" John sounded exasperated.

"But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?" Lestrade asked the room.

"Oh," Sherlock sighed, "I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored."

The pink phone beeped, signalling a new message. Sherlock removed the phone from his inside jacket pocket and plays the voicemail. Four Greenwich pips play out into the room.

"Test one complete, test two commences." Scarlett announced.

She slide off of her desk to join the men, Sherlock showed them a new photograph. A close-up of a car with its driver's door open and the number plate clearly visible. As she looked at the photo she heard a phone on the police floor outside ring out.

"That has to be abandoned." Sherlock stated.

"I'll see if it's been reported." Lestrade replied instantly. He went to grab his office phone when Donovan entered the room looking perplexed, a look Scarlett was used to seeing on the young Sergeant.

"Mini freak," she looked up fully and acknowledged Donovan, "it's for you." She pointed to herself and the three men in the room began to pay attention. Donovan just nodded.

Scarlett shrugged and walked out of the office, picked up the receiver of the phone that had been left on a desk for her and answered the call, "Hello?"

"It's okay baby, I don't mind that you've gone to the police." A young man on the other end sounded terrified.

"Who is this? It's you again, isn't it?" She asked voice unwavering.

"Just don't rely on them." The young man continued.

She looked back into Lestrade's office to see that Sherlock hadn't stopped watching her. She watched his forehead crease as he took in her expression.

"Clever Sherlock, guessing about Carl Powers like that. But now I want to see what you can do. You don't deserve to walk in his shadow."

"And what if I'm okay with living in my uncle's shadow?" She asked coolly.

"He's not even your real uncle and yet you'll follow him blindly." She refused to let these words get the better of her as she lent her back against the desk, her grip on the receiver tightening.

"Why him? Why Carl?" She asked once she had taken a moment.

"Why anyone?" The young man replied, "He laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing."

Scarlett watched as Sherlock made his way out of Lestrade's office to stand by her; a look of what she knew was his version of concern on his face. "You're all talk, thing is you won't even talk to us yourself, you'll use others to do it for you. So, who did you use this time?"

"This is about you and me and Sherlock. Nothing else matters." She could hear a heavy amount of noise in the background of wherever this man was.

"Oh, I think it does. Where are you? What's that noise?"

"That, my beautiful flower is the sound of life." There was a brief pause in which she could hear the young man begin to weep, "But don't worry... I can soon fix that."

She looked at Sherlock, holding onto the desk slightly as the young man gave into his tears again, "Sherlock solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time he has eight."

The line went dead just as Lestrade came out of the office with John, "We found the car."

"We have to get going," she primarily spoke to Sherlock, "He's given you eight hours this time."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

They all stood next to the car near a riverside. Forensics officers in protective clothing working on the car as Lestrade leads them towards it, Donovan taking along with them all.

Lestrade looked at his notes, "The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. A Banker of some kind; City boy. Paid in cash."

Scarlett focused in on a woman that they passed talking with a female police officer, "Apparently he told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived." Lestrade continued.

She could hear Donovan talk to John some distance behind her, although she couldn't figure out what they were saying. Not concerned about Donovan's opinion she joined Sherlock in looking in on the two front seats of the car.

"And yes, before you ask, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out." Lestrade answered the question before it was asked.

She watched Sherlock as he found a business card in the glove box and took it out. Closing the lid he straightened up. "No body." Sherlock commented.

"Yet…" Scarlett thought out loud.

Sherlock turned to Lestrade, "Get a sample sent to the lab."

Lestrade nodded and they walked away, Scarlett made a beeline for the woman who was talking with the police officer. "Mrs Monkford?"

She turned to her tearfully, "Yes?"

She sighed at the sight of Scarlett, "Sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen."

"Do I look old enough to be in the force? No, I'm a… well, my uncle over there," She pointed over to Sherlock and made a show of waving to him, he seemed to guess what she was doing and he gave a small wave back.

"Well, he's a very old friend of your husband's." She shook her hand, "He feels like it'd be too much to talk to you in person." They look back over her shoulder to see Sherlock animatedly talking to John, "See? He's beside himself."

"I don't think he ever mentioned your uncle and I don't recognise him."

"Oh, I guess, maybe in passing. You probably didn't know he was talking about because it was just a bunch of inside jokes between them." Mrs Monkford looked unconvinced.

"I mean, I just can't believe it. Uncle Sherlock only saw him the other day. Same old Ian, he told me – not a care in the world." She smiled in sympathy.

"Sorry, your uncle can't have known my husband that well; he'd been depressed for months." She was on the defensive, she knew that something was wrong.

"Thing is, it's really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?" she asked innocently only now it looked like Mrs Monkford was going to hit her.

"No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all." She took a step toward her and Scarlett took an active step back.

"Oh, well, from the stories uncle Sherlock tells me that does sound like Ian!" She laughed weakly.

"No it doesn't!" She would feel mean for upsetting a new widower in any other situation but there was something off about Mrs Monkford. She just wasn't playing ball.

She decided to drop the act sharply, "Oh doesn't it? Interesting."

Scarlett turned and began to walk for the police tape before Ian's wife could hurl something at her from within her bag, "Who are you?" She heard the widower yell after her.

She finally made it to Sherlock and John to report her findings, "She was contradicting me in the past tense."

"Ooo, interesting." Sherlock looked at her, "Bit soon though, they've only just found the car."

"That's what I thought. She didn't kill him though."

"No," Sherlock agreed, "the murderer, if there is one, wouldn't make that mistake."

"Are either of you going to tell me what's going on?!" John demanded of them.

As they make their way off of the crime scene she heard Donovan yell at John, "Fishing! Try fishing!"

"So now what?" John asked and Scarlett watched Sherlock pass over the business card from the glove compartment of the car.

"Janus Cars." Sherlock declared to the open sky. "Well," He said gesturing between himself and John, "For us anyway."

Sherlock handed over the iPhone to her, "Why?" She questioned perplexed.

"Because this time he rang you first not me, he'll do it again."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

She hated working at Bart's alone, only a few people would take her word for face value and she always had to get Molly to escort her to the labs. She was at her work station now however and was feeling quite content although she hoped that Sherlock and John weren't going to take too long at Janus Cars.

She took a large drop of blood in a shallow glass dish, placing it on her work bench she reached for a piece of equipment. She opened a bottle and siphoned out some liquid with a small dropper watching it fizz as it made contact with the blood.

The pink phone began to ring and she picked it up straight way, "Hello?"

"The clue's in the name. Janus Cars." The young man told her tearfully.

"And you're giving me a clue because?"

"Why does anyone do anything? Because I'm bored." There were a couple of sobs down the line, "We were made for each other, Scarlett. You, I and Sherlock."

"Then why don't you talk to me with your own voice?" She asked quietly.

"Patience and all good things, Scarlett." The young man replied.

The line went dead; Scarlett lowered the phone and looked thoughtfully into the distance for a while. Finally she looked back down at the fizzing liquid in the dish, picking it up to examine it better. She could feel the smile on her face as she sent a text to Sherlock before getting up to leave.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

With just three hours to go Scarlett met up with Sherlock, John and Lestrade in the police car pound, all of them by Monkford's hired car.

"How much blood was on that seat, would you say?" Sherlock asked the group.

"About a pint I'd say." Lestrade commented.

"Not 'about'. Exactly a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's but it's been frozen." Scarlett clarified.

"Frozen?" John repeated confused.

"Yes, when I checked the blood there was clear signs that it had been." She said.

"I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seats." Sherlock rationalised.

"'They' being Janus Cars. The clue's in the name." Scarlett told them while she re-studied the vehicle.

"The god with two faces." John stated.

"Exactly."

Sherlock turned from the car to Lestrade, "They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out, hence the depression. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat."

"So where is he?" John asked.

"Columbia." Sherlock told them.

Now it was her turn to sound surprised, "Columbia?!"

Sherlock turned to look at her, "When we went to see Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars he had a twenty thousand Columbian peso note in his wallet along with substantial change. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. He told John and I that he'd been at the sun beds but no-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

"His arm?" Lestrade interrupted.

"He kept scratching it. Obviously irritating him and it was bleeding too. Why? Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance. Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars."

"I told you something wasn't right about her." Scarlett grinned triumphantly.

Sherlock turned to her once more, "Oh yes. She's in on it too. So I suggest you go and arrest them Inspector that is after all your job. And you Scarlett can let the bomber know that this round has been solved. I am very good!"

She whipped put her phone and getting up 'The Science of Deduction' she typed into the message box: Does this mean I have to get Ian Monkford a Columbian house warming present? Or will a cheque with his share of the life insurance just be acceptable?

Shortly after the Pink phone rang out, "He says you can come and fetch me. Help. Help me, please." The young man pleaded.

"We're sending someone now, don't you worry." Scarlett assured.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

They had breakfast that morning in a little café in the centre of London, well, John did. She stuck with her blueberry muffin and orange juice. She did the lid up on her bottle and began to people watch the men and women walking by.

She was watching a young women nervously walking up to a house across the street, her boyfriend's. Well the woman had convinced herself soon to be ex-boyfriend, he was thinking of ending it, not her. She wore heels and had done her hair and nails. Scarlett guessed she needed to make him soft before telling him about their baby. First time mother, that much was clear, women often carried themselves like that around the second half of their first trimester. Bolt upright, back straining, body tense, as though they were already at full term.

The pink phone went off and she drew her eyes away from the scene as the drunken boyfriend opened the door. He regretted the cheating then. Maybe the couple would be able to work it out after all.

Two short Greenwich pips followed by a longer tone sounded out before Sherlock showed them a picture of a smiling middle aged women.

"That," She said in exasperation, "could be anyone."

"I know." Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

"Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed." John said smugly.

"How d'you mean?" Sherlock asked the doctor.

"Meaning lucky for you, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly."

She watched amused as John stood up from the table and walked over to the counter. He smiled at the woman behind the counter before he picked up a remote control and switched on the small television that hung on the wall. He switched channels a couple of times until he apparently found what he was looking for. The woman from the photograph is on the screen, partway through her make-over show and is gesturing to someone off screen.

"Thank you, Tyra! Doesn't she look lovely, everybody, now?" The woman yelled on the TV in order to hype up the audience.

The pink phone began to ring out, "Hello?" Sherlock answered after putting it on loud speaker.

"This one... is a bit... defective. Sorry." The voice belonged to an old woman with a thick Yorkshire accent.

"She's blind you see. This is... a funny one." She continued as John came back over to sit with them once again. "I'll give you... twelve hours."

Sherlock looked at John as he sits down once again, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I like... to watch you... dance." The vulnerable woman's reply was thick with tears before the line went dead, leaving only Scarlett to shake her head in a state of horror filled wonder.

She looked up at the TV silently to see another segment of the woman's show as a news reporter begins their voice over, "...continuing into the sudden death of the popular TV personality, Connie Prince. Miss Prince, famous for her make-over programmes, was found dead two days ago by her brother in the house they shared in Hampstead..."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

In the morgue at Bart's she's looking at Connie Prince's body as it laid bare out on a table with a sheet covering everything below her chest, leaving her arms and breasts exposed. She listened as Lestrade as he began to talk about their victim.

"Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly. Did you see it?"

"No." Sherlock said shortly.

"It was very popular. She was going places."

"Not any more. The only place she's going now is six feet under to make friends with maggots." Scarlett said nonchalantly.

"So," Sherlock pressed on, "dead two days. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound."

She and John look at the deep cut in the webbing between her right thumb and index finger.

"Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night sweet prince." She commented her head cocked to the side as she lifted the hand, twisting it a bit. "It's too easy though." She said looking up at Sherlock.

He nodded, "I agree, it can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong."

She watched him as he narrowed his eyes looking down at the body bending closer to look along Connie's right arm. He took his magnifier from his pocket in order to study the upper arm more closely.

"Claw marks." She heard him mutter to himself.

He moved up to her face and something else must have caught his eye on the upper lip. "John?"

"Mmm."

"Medical man's opinion." He looked at the doctor, "The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?" Sherlock asked and John nodded in response.

"But the wound's clean – very clean, and fresh." Scarlett said looking at the cut hand once more.

"Typically, how long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her to cause an effect?" Sherlock asked John.

"Eight maybe ten days." John replied.

Sherlock quirked a one-sided grin watching her as she to grinned and said, "So the cut was made after her death."

"After she was dead?" Lestrade said thinking it over.

"It must have been. The only question is –"

"– How did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system?" Scarlett finished for him and he nodded at her.

Sherlock took a deep breath turning his attention back once again, to John, "You want to help, right?"

"Yeah," He replied instantly, "of course."

"Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data." Sherlock told him.

"Right." John turned and left the room sharply.

Sherlock looked down at Connie's body one more time, before gesturing to her over his shoulder to the exit, turning and heading for the door himself.

"There's something else that we haven't thought of." Lestrade called out to them.

"Is there?" Sherlock asked in a casual tone.

"Yeah," Lestrade kept saying, "Why is he doing this, the bomber?"

They both stopped keeping their backs turned to the inspector. Scarlett could see the tense set in Sherlock's shoulders, he was clearly anxious.

"If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?" The D.I. asked.

"Obviously they're a good Samaritan." She told him nonchalantly as she tried to make it to the door again.

"A good Samaritan who press-gangs suicide bombers?" Lestrade sounded more than a little sceptical.

"Bad Samaritan then." Sherlock amended.

"I'm – I'm serious, you two. Listen: I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you both – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?"

Sherlock looked at her for a second in thought before a grin crossed his face, "Something new."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

Several hours later Scarlett was sat in her bedroom in Baker Street looking at her bedroom wall focusing on everything she had put together on Andrew West. She had unstuck his entire file and pinned and stuck it to the wall face. String connecting things she thought were related to one another.

The Oyster Card. Not used. That nagged her and the fact that he lacked a normal ticket. He hadn't been on a train and yet he had ended up in Battersea, fifteen minutes away from where he was last seen by his Fiancée.

How. In. The. Hell?

She span in her desk chair ignoring the wall for a second, trying to think. She watched Miles make the usual hourly lap of his glass domain, a leaf of lettuce poking out of his mouth; some saw dust stuck to his clawed foot.

She needed to talk to the Fiancée. She finally decided. She needed to see what 'Westie' had been up to during the last month in his life at the very least.

Her phone beeped distracting her, she looked down. Her countdown revealed that there were only three hours left until the woman died. She decided to leave the mystery of Andrew West for a minute and go and see if Sherlock needed any help.

She walked down the stairs and into the living room of Two-Two-One-B, the front door was open and she could hear Mrs Hudson talking about colours draining her.

"If colours are draining you Mrs Hudson, I strongly suggest you consult a doctor." She said in way of greeting to the land lady as she walked in. She was slightly surprised to see Lestrade still there as Sherlock got off the phone.

"Oh, hello Scarlett dear, no I was just talking about Connie Prince's show."

"Ah, I see," she nodded to Lestrade, "I thought he might have bored you into submission by now." She said talking about Sherlock.

"Na, no such luck I'm afraid." The D.I. replied acting regretful. "So go on then," he looked to Sherlock at the same time she did, "who was that on the phone?"

"Home Office." Sherlock replied simply.

"Home Office?" Lestrade repeated surprised.

"Home Secretary." Scarlett corrected, "Calling in that favour?"

He turned to look at her, the look on his face making it evident that he'd only just realised she was there.

"That's the first thing I've heard you say in hours." He sounded almost accusing.

"Well yeah. I haven't been here; I was upstairs working on that case for Mycroft." She defended herself. "It's not my fault if you just keep talking to me!"

"I can't believe you'd pick his case over this! This is far more interesting."

"I also have a feeling that if I get to heavily involved in solving any of it you'll be accused of cheating and that woman will die regardless. I'm better off doing something else that's not connected. "

She walked over to Sherlock's laptop to see what he was up to, only to find that an episode of the dead woman's show was paused. She studied her face for a second, "Blimey, she's had some work done hasn't she?"

"Most definitely," Mrs Hudson answered, "She was a pretty girl but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days. I mean people can hardly move their faces. It's silly, isn't it?" She asked the occupants of the room.

Scarlett un-paused the video, "You look pasty, love." Connie was saying to the man she knew to be the woman's brother – the one John had gone to see.

"No love lost there, if you can believe the papers." Mrs Hudson commented watching the video over her shoulder.

"So I gather. I've just been having a very fruitful chat with people who loved this show." Sherlock replied as she continued to watch the recorded sence unfold.

"Fan sites are always indispensable for gossip." She heard herself mutter.

"Quite." Sherlock agreed.

She watched as she saw Connie start to beat her brother rhythmically on the back, attempting to get him to remove his jacket. It worked and the brother tried his best to hide his grimace for the cameras.

Mrs Hudson's shoes crossed the apartment floor and left them to it so only the three of them remained. Mozart rang out signalling a call, she removed her phone from her pocket. She didn't bother to check the I.D. there were only ever three people that called her and two of them were in the same room as her right now. "John."

"Hi. Sorry to interrupt but I thought Sherlock might be busy working on everything. Look I think I've got something and I need you to come and check it out. I need you to pick up some stuff first though. You got a pen?"

She looked over her shoulder to Sherlock and Lestrade and grinned, "No, but I have a Mind Palace so shot."

* * *

**Hey!**

**I apologies for the delay! I got into Uni and everything's been up in the air! Here's part two (sorry if you spot errors!), I'll give you part three tomorrow :)**

**Thanks to NotWhatSherl, Diamondtearsx and Imagine Rose for putting this story on alert! :D**

**Thanks for sticking with me,**

**H.H**


	10. The Great Game - Part Three

The Great Game: Part Three

_Mrs Hudson's shoes crossed the apartment floor and left them to it so only the three of them remained. Mozart rang out signalling a call, she removed her phone from her pocket. She didn't bother to check the I.D. there were only ever three people that called her and two of them were in the same room as her right now. "John." _

"_Hi. Sorry to interrupt but I thought Sherlock might be busy working on everything. Look I think I've got something and I need you to come and check it out. I need you to pick up some stuff first though. You got a pen?"_

_She looked over her shoulder to Sherlock and Lestrade and grinned, "No, but I have a Mind Palace so shoot."_

* * *

"Nice house." Scarlett observed as she walked up the gravel path to the front door.

"Is it worth killing over though?" Sherlock asked her as he shifted a bag on his shoulder.

"Oh, I'd kill for it." She said looking up at the gigantic house and imagining the massive estate behind it that would undoubtedly make up the back garden. She turned to him and her smile slipped at the look on his face, "It's got nothing on Baker Street though, I swear!" She added hastily. Sherlock just rolled his eyes silently and knocked on the front door.

The houseboy – Raoul – answered the door and showed them in, taking them into a huge, well decorated living room. "Ah, there you are boss!" Both Sherlock and Scarlett chorused upon seeing John.

They both walked further into the room to greet the two men. "Ah, Mr. Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock asked while placing down his shoulder bag and one of the long black cases the two had between them before Scarlett placed down the other one.

"That's right." The man announced.

"Excellent to finally meet you." Sherlock walked forward and shook his hand and she did the same not two seconds later parroting similar words whilst observing Kenny's hand in her grasp.

"Yes, yes; thank you." She thought he sounded rather full of himself.

She pulled away from him, "So sorry to hear about..."

He interrupted her. "Yes, yes, very kind."

"Right then you two, shall we, er... set up?" John asked Sherlock and her.

"Sure thing boss, um, Sherl can get the tripod set up while I sort out Mr Princes' look." She smiled at Sherlock – who was giving her the death glare – while John tried to stifle a laugh.

"Yes," he managed to get out, "I'm sure Sherl can manage the tripod set up just fine."

She went to distract Kenny, giving John a second to fill Sherlock in, "Right Mr Prince. Do you want anything on your face to prevent shine?"

"No thank you dear, I applied something the moment I knew your reporter friend was coming. Take note: you must always look your very best in company."

"I'll most definitely keep that information locked away safely, sir." She fiddled with his hair a bit and then called out to the other two, "Boys, I think I'm done here."

"Um, yes. Okay then." John replied it was clear that he was unsure of the entire situation.

Sherlock, who had taken the camera and flashgun out of his shoulder bag, jerked his head towards Kenny. The older man seemed to get the message as she stepped back out of the way and he posed for the camera, leaning one arm against the mantelpiece.

"Not too close." Kenny protested as Sherlock walked forward with the camera, "I'm raw from crying."

A cat meowed at Scarlett's feet. She looked down expecting to find a mass of fur but instead was met by a mass of wrinkly skin wearing a collar. She shuddered; she wasn't really a cat person, never mind mutant ones with no fur.

"Oh," She said, trying to keep her voice even, "who's this?"

"Sekhmet." Kenny replied. "Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"H-how lovely." She kept the smile on her face but was sure she saw Sherlock smirk at her discomfort. "Was she Connie's?"

"Yes."

She went to pick the cat up but it seemed to sense her fear and it hissed at her before it bolted for Kenny, but John intercepted and caught her first, "I got her for Connie myself." Kenny said proudly.

She watched John immediately reach out and rub his fingers over one of the cat's front paws. Sherlock kept taking photos to make their cover believable. She spotted John from the corner of her eye lift his fingers away to smell them as Sherlock continued to take photos.

"Well that's it; I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us Mr Prince." John said after a second.

"What?" Was it just Scarlett or did the man sound crest fallen?

"Sherl. Scarlett. Let's go. We've got deadlines." John told them.

After Sherlock had hastily packed away with her help the three ran for it, ignoring Prince's protests. She heard John laugh to himself happily, "Yes! Ooh, yes!" He smiled triumphantly.

"You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat." Sherlock told John with a smile but then he turned to her and his face fell, "Scarlett, don't ever call me Sherl again." Sherlock said rather sourly.

"Naw, but it suits you!" She protested.

John ignored them both, "What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant."

Sherlock was smiling again, "Lovely idea though."

"No," John still tried to defend his idea; "he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet – bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have..."

He trailed off as Sherlock interrupted him, "I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it's too random and too clever for the brother."

"He murdered his sister for her money though." John said still laughing quietly.

"Nope," Scarlett shot the idea down, "I thought that too when I saw the house, but then I saw the help."

"The help?" John questioned, "No, what about the cat?"

"Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor. Scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn't come into it." Sherlock answered.

She laughed as John pulled his jacket up to sniff at it as Sherlock looked toward the main road.

"Raoul's internet records do come into it, though." Scarlett said. "I do hope we can get a cab from here." She whined.

Sherlock walked off to get a black gab and she placed a hand on John's shoulder knowing he felt bad for not getting this particular one right. This seemed to get him to move and he walked in Sherlock's direction.

"Never mind, John. There'll always be next time."

-Break line- Break line- Break line -

With just an hour to go before the old women was due to die the three of them ran into New Scotland Yard heading for Lestrade's office. It was dark outside and Scarlett had to watch her step as she rushed up the buildings main steps. It didn't take them long to get into Lestrade's room once they were inside as they had all decided to border line run.

Once they were finally stood in front of Lestrade who was sat at his desk Sherlock declared with a file in hand, "Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince – it was botulinum toxin."

He threw the file down onto Lestrade's desk and as the inspector reached for it Sherlock continued, "We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself."

"So," Lestrade asked leaning back into his desk chair, "how'd he do it?"

"Botox injection." Scarlett answered. She thought of catching sight of the tiny pin pricks in Connie's face as she lay dead on the autopsy table back at Bart's.

"Botox?" Lestrade asked turning his attention to her.

"Botox is a diluted form of botulinum." She told him.

"Among other things," Sherlock began to say, "Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases." He pointed to the folder on Lestrade's desk, "He's been bulk ordering Botox for months."

She looked over her shoulder at John who hadn't said anything in a while she was shocked but not altogether completely surprised to see the look of anger on his face. She wanted to alert Sherlock to this fact but he was too wrapped up in his story to notice her attempts to silence him.

"Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose." Sherlock concluded.

"You sure about this?" Lestrade urged.

"I'm sure." Sherlock nodded.

"Alright." Lestrade conceded, he got up and left the office briefly to talk to someone.

"Hey, Sherlock. How long?" John asked casually but she could hear the angry undertone.

"What?" Sherlock asked oblivious.

"How long have you known?"

Scarlett squeezed her eyes shut willing Sherlock not to say what she knew he would. He did anyway, "Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake."

John clenched his fist, trying to remain calm, "No, but Sherl… The hostage…that old woman. She's been there all this time."

Sherlock leaned closer looking at him intensely, "I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? Now we're one up on him!"

She felt sympathy for John as he pursed his lips in frustration, waiting for Lestrade to return so they could upload the deduction to the website. Once he had Sherlock sat behind Lestrade's desk and began to type: Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox. Before finally uploading.

The bomber had obviously been watching the webpage as the pink phone which she had in her pocket rang out almost instantly. Sherlock nodded and she answered the call.

"Hello?" She said into the receiver.

"Help me. Please." The elderly woman cried in an anguished voice

"Tell us where you are. Do you have an address?" She spoke clearly.

"He was so... His voice..." The woman began to say and Scarlett cut her off hastily.

"No, no, no, no!" She cried urgently, "You mustn't tell me anything about him. Nothing, shh!"

Her eyes widened in alarm looking but not seeing as the woman continued, "He sounded so... soft."

There was a gun shot and the line went dead, she didn't bother calling out. She knew what had happened. She leant against the office wall to support herself. "Scarlett… Scarlett?"

She looked up to see who had called her; it was Lestrade, "What's wrong?"

"What happened?" She heard John make a move towards her; she straightened up and leant the back of her head against the wall, closing her eyes.

Slowly she lowered the iPhone from her ear and bit her lip focusing in on the only person that hadn't reacted. Sherlock, "She's dead."

-Break line- POV Change- Break line-

That morning Scarlett sat in the flat with John and himself watching the news on the TV. She hadn't said a thing since she had left Lestrade's office the night prior. He glanced down at the pink phone on the left arm of his chair. He knew even though it was completely irrational that she blamed herself. The windows were still broken and boarded up making the loud traffic outside even louder causing her to wear a pinched expression.

Then on the TV, the story they had been waiting for flashed to life on the screen. A high-rise block of flats with the headline at the bottom of the screen was shown. The headline read, "12 dead in gas explosion". The picture moved in for a close-up, showing a corner of the building with many floors having been torn open and exposed to the air.

"The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people..." The news reporter was saying.

John looked over his shoulder at him while Scarlett remained in her catatonic state, "Old block of flats. He certainly gets about." John said.

"…is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company..." The reporter continued.

"Well," He said nonchalantly, "obviously I lost that round – although technically I did solve the case."

Then he heard it, the noise he'd been waiting for: Scarlett snorted. He sat there waiting for her verbal onslaught, it would be short but powerful he knew from previous experiences.

"Well," She said heatedly but in a mocking tone, "as long as Sherlock Holmes solves his case then there's nothing to worry about is there?" She glared at him, "Never mind the twelve innocent people dead all because one psychopath wanted to grab your attention."

He picked up the remote control and muted the volume on the TV, throwing John a 'Don't get involved' look.

"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him." He told her quietly as she fell into a prickly silence. "That wasn't your fault, you couldn't have stopped it."

She glared at him but unfazed he still continued, "Just once, he put himself in the firing line." He told them both.

He was getting the result he wanted, her muscles were uncoiling, relaxing, "What d'you mean?" She asked him shortly.

"Well," Sherlock said focusing on the wall opposite him, "usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things but no-one ever has direct contact."

"What...like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that?" John questioned in disbelief finally speaking as he too noticed Scarlett relaxing, "So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"

"Your opposite," He looked at her, glad that she was finally engaging, "a consulting criminal." Her eyes were wide in wonder as she finished.

"Marvellous." Sherlock said in admiration.

"Huh." He heard John say as he clearly processed this before turning back to the TV to watch Raoul de Santos being bundled out of Kenny's house by police officers. The press shouting questions at him, pushing and shoving, the headline on the screen reading: 'Connie Prince: man arrested.'

Sherlock looked down at the pink phone, "He's taking his time this time."

"Anything on the Carl Powers case?" John asked him uncomfortably as he watched the scene on the TV unfold.

He didn't answer; instead he watched Scarlett get up and stretch, moving for the first time in hours, "He told me when he had that young man strapped up to that bomb that he killed Carl because he laughed at him. All of his old class mates check out?"

"Yes." He told her, "All the living classmates check out spotless. There's no connection."

"Anyway," John asked, "who would want to kill old classmates?"

"Oh," Scarlett said rather darkly, "I could think of a few I wouldn't mind getting rid of." Sherlock silently agreed with her and smirked at John's uneasy expression.

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?" John threw out trying to change the topic.

"The thought had occurred." Sherlock said simply.

Sherlock pressed his fingertips together in front of his mouth and smiled slightly as John asked him, "So why's he doing this, then – playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?"

"I think," He replied evenly, "he wants to be distracted."

John laughed without humour whilst getting out of his chair and heading towards the kitchen, "I hope you'll be very happy together."

"Sorry, what?" He asked confused as he heard Scarlett laugh quietly before she started to hum the wedding march sarcastically. He chose to ignore her.

John turned back to him looking furious as he leant his hands on the back of his chair, "There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives… Just - just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

Sherlock was starting to feel irritated as Scarlett turned in her seat to give the conversation her full attention. "Will caring about them help save them?"

"Nope." John replied simply.

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake." He said coolly.

"And you find that easy, do you?" John said his voice full of disbelief.

"Yes, very. Is that news to you?"

"No." John acknowledged as he smiled bitterly at Sherlock, "No it's not."

Sherlock locks onto John's eyes for a moment before stating, "I've disappointed you."

John smiled angrily as he pointed at him sarcastically, "That's good – that's a good deduction, yeah."

Sherlock just looked at him blankly before telling him, "Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

They continued to stare at each other for a second before the pink phone sounded a message alert, disrupting them.

"Excellent!" Sherlock exclaimed to himself.

He picked up the phone and activated it. The phone sounded one short pip and the long tone; a photograph appeared showing a river bank.

"Round four." He heard Scarlett state from her spot in her chair. He heard John move across the room and sit down.

"Great." Sherlock heard him sigh heavily. "It's a view of the Thames." Sherlock told them, describing the picture out loud, "South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo." He reached into his jacket for his own phone.

"You check the papers," He told them both, "I'll look online..."

He looked up to see John, although sat down on the sofa his back was tense, head bowed, "Oh of course, you're angry with me, so you won't help."

John raised his head not looking at him and shrugged silently in response, "And you?" Sherlock turned his head to Scarlett who was looking at him with a mixture of emotions she was attempting to hide before she finally settled on tired.

She sighed sadly before saying, "I'll always help you. You know that."

He watched her cross over to sit next to John on the couch picking up some papers before he said, "Not much cop, this caring lark." He loudly clicked the 'k' on the last word for emphasis.

Sherlock dismissed both John and Scarlett from his mind as he began a search on his phone:

''Search: 'Thames'

RESULTS:

+ High Tide

+ Riverside''

Sherlock continued his online search, totally focussed on his work and oblivious to the emotional trauma which he knew his flatmate and niece were going through. After a while he heard John sniff, before he heard him start to finally riffle though the papers. Sherlock changed what he was searching for:

''Search: 'Local News'

Results:

+ Greenwich

+ Waterloo

+ Battersea''

He selected the Waterloo link on his phone and he is rewarded with timed reports from the Waterloo area, giving tide times, police reports and other information.

"Archway suicide." He heard John call over to him as he read the paper out loud in an irritated tone.

"Are ten a penny." He said snapping back irritably.

John threw him a look before Sherlock went back to the Local News option and selected Battersea. The page showed him a message saying:

'No new reports.'

He then decided to try the 'Thames Police Reports' link and started to scroll through the duty log

"Ah Jesus," He heard Scarlett sigh heavily, "Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington."

"Man found on the train line – Andrew West?" He heard John say not two seconds later.

"Ah, can I have that, John? I need everything and anything on him for that case." Scarlett said to their flatmate.

"Mycroft really let you work that case on your own?" John asked surprised.

Sherlock heard the smile in her voice as she replied, "Well you two are busy with exploding people so someone else he trusts had to do it."

"And how did his colleagues react when they learnt that the fate of missile plans lay in the hands of a seventeen year old?" Sherlock asked her looking up at her in time to see her turn to look at him.

"I don't think he's told them, I believe he's just said 'Holmes is working on the case'." She shrugged, "Well, he's not lying is he? I am a Holmes." She smirked at him in a satisfied sort of way while he heard John snort.

"You're the better of the three I've met." John told her.

Scarlett laughed in response, "Wait until you met my Nan and Granddad."

"He has parents?!" John asked in a mocking gasp and he watched with slight amusement as Scarlett fell about laughing.

Unable to find anything online Sherlock gave up with an exasperated sigh, deciding to do what he should have done in the first place. He hit the speed dial for Lestrade's number. "It's me." He said as soon as Lestrade picked up the phone, "Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?"

-Break line- POV Change- Break line-

Later on Scarlett found herself walking down a river back with Sherlock, John and Lestrade, snapping on a pair of latex gloves, her previous brooding mood all but dissipated. She watched as the police and forensics officers worked on the scene in front of them.

"So," Lestrade started to say, "d'you reckon this is connected, then? To the bomber?"

"It must be. Odd, though..." She watched Sherlock hold up the pink phone "he hasn't been in touch."

"But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes. And without knowing a time limit we'll have to work quickly." Scarlett found herself saying, "Which means no buggering around, Sherlock."

He looked at her clearly affronted before he stepped back and took a long look at the man's body as they arrived which was now lying on its back on a plastic sheet. "Any ideas?" Lestrade asked after about a minute.

"Seven." Sherlock told the DI casually.

"Seven?!" Lestrade said stunned.

"He's exaggerating, Lestrade, I only have four." She told him.

"And that," Sherlock said without looking up from the body, "is why you are merely an understudy."

"Rude!" She gasped in mock hurt.

She leant down on the opposite side of the body to Sherlock and decided that she needed a magnifier like his, which he was now using. She looked at the ripped pocket on the man's shirt before working her way downwards until she reached the man's feet. Sherlock got there before her and had started to pull off one of the socks and examine the sole of the foot with his magnifier.

She stayed where she was with the body as Sherlock stood and silently gave John permission to look at the body. John – much like he had the first time he had been on a case with them – looked enquiringly at Lestrade for permission to examine the body. She smiled as the Inspector held his hand out in a, 'be my guest' gesture.

John squatted down beside the body on the opposite side to her and reached out to take hold of the man's wrist as she clocked Sherlock walking a few paces away before getting his phone out.

"He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he…?" John started to ask.

"Drown? No." Scarlett said before he could finish, "look here," she said gesturing to the man's face, specifically his mouth and nose which showed signs of bruising. "Asphyxiation marks."

"She's right," Lestrade said and both she and John looked at him, "According to forensics there isn't enough of the Thames in his lungs."

Something on the man's forehead grasped her attention, "Finger marks." She muttered. She envisioned someone behind this man grabbing from behind, one hand over his mouth and nose, the other pressed into his forehead, pulling him back.

She took her hand and attempted to cover both the man's mouth and nose to no avail. This man's hand had to be huge. Not to mention he had to be taller than the deceased man lying in front of her judging by the angles of the marks. She thought for a couple of seconds before she came up with an answer – the answer being Oskar Dzundza – as Sherlock walked back over to them.

"He's in his late thirties, I'd say." John commented, "Not in the best condition."

"He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data." Sherlock told Lestrade and she saw him grin. "But I'll tell you something: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake." Her eyes widened in understanding.

"What?" Lestrade asked confused about how they had gone for talking about a dead man to a painting.

"We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates..." Sherlock ignored Lestrade.

"Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?" Lestrade protested.

"It's all over the place." She told the Inspector, "Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds."

"Okay. So what has that got to do with the stiff?" Lestrade asked trying to understand how the two were linked.

Sherlock grinned briefly, "Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?"

Scarlett grinned as she realised she had been right, "It's a horror story, isn't it? What are you saying?" John asked not understanding the context.

"Jewish folk story states," Scarlett began as she finally stood back up, "That there once was a gigantic man made of clay. It's also the name of an assassin – real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world." She pointed down to the body, "And the way this man was killed, that's his trademark style."

Sherlock gave a small nod looking at her with what she knew was his version of pride – even if it was only detectable to her, "So this is a hit?" Lestrade stood transfixed looking down at the body.

"Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands." Sherlock accompanied the statement with the motion of strangling thin air.

"But," Lestrade still asked confused, "what has this gotta do with that painting? I still don't see..."

"You do see," Sherlock sighed exasperated looking up to the sky, "you just don't observe."

Scarlett laughed as John intervened, "All right, all right, girls, calm down. Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?" She sighed as Sherlock took a step back, knowing that he was about to show off as he pointed at the body.

"What do we know about this corpse?" He asked them, "The killer's not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty. Same as the shirt – cheap. They're both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie."

"Tube driver!" Lestrade exclaimed and Sherlock threw him a look which she interpreted to mean 'idiot', she tried her hardest not to laugh.

"Security guard?" John tried.

"More likely. That'll be borne out by his backside." Sherlock said.

"Backside?!" Lestrade cried shocked.

"Well I'll be damned Sherlock, you've been checking out a corpse." Scarlett snickered and she heard John chock out a laugh.

Sherlock, to her surprise stuck his tongue out at her in childish protest. "It's flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts."

"Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died." Lestrade reasoned.

"No-no-no," Sherlock protested, "the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted; otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognisable, at some kind of institution."

She watched as he removed something from inside his coat pocket, "I found this inside his trouser pocket." He said holding up a small scrunched-up ball of paper. "It's sodden by the river but still recognisably..."

"Ticket stubs." She concluded after looking at what he held.

"Ticket stubs." He agreed, "He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check online– the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing." He pointed down at the decease man. "Alex Woodbridge." Sherlock said unveiling his identity.

"Tonight," He continued, "they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake."

"Fantastic." John said looking at Sherlock in admiration.

Sherlock, still annoyed about the argument earlier she could tell, merely shrugged and said, "Meretricious."

"And a Happy New Year!" Lestrade added.

She watched John throw Lestrade 'seriously?!' look and she grinned at Lestrade's sheepish face as John looks back down at Alex Woodbridge, "Poor sod."

"I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character." Lestrade said walking backwards.

"Pointless. You'll never find him. But I know a man who can."

"Who?" Lestrade asked walking right into the trap.

Sherlock just grinned, "Me."

She sighed as she and John went to follow Sherlock who was walking away, "You're a show off, you know that right?" She asked him.

"Of course."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

"Why? Why hasn't he phoned?" Sherlock asked in frustration in the back of the cab, "He's broken his pattern. Why?"

Before she can say anything in response his eyes widen and he leant forward in his seat in order to talk to the driver, "Change of plan," He says, "We need to go to Waterloo Bridge."

"I thought we were going to the gallery?" John asked in confusion.

"We will in a bit." Sherlock assured them.

"The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?" John said, thinking out loud.

"Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data." Sherlock told him.

She watched him take his notebook from his pocket and write something on a page before tearing it out and folding a bank note inside it. She knew instantly what he wanted, "Give it here," she told him holding her hand out, "I'll be quicker." He nodded and handed over the paper before telling the driver to pull over but to wait for her to return.

"I won't be a sec!" She called as she jumped out of the cab and easily vaulted over the railings at the edge of the pavement before she began to run, not bothering to respond to John's cries.

Scarlett slowed as she spotted a homeless girl under the bridge and to her surprise it was Hazel, the girl that had found the pink case for her during Sherlock's and her first case with John, "Hazel, girl!" She called out and she looked up.

"Ms Holmes!" She said in surprise her Northern accent still present despite her time in London. She had a blanket wrapped around her and a few more possessions surrounding her, her matted hair pulled back into a scruffy ponytail.

"Sherlock needs a favour, I don't know what it is, it'll be all down on the paper I expect." She said finally stopping in front of the girl handing over the note. "You don't mind?"

"Course not Ms! Not seeing as our last meeting meant I didn't end up most likely dead that night."

"If you ever need anything," She said handing over her own twenty pound note, "find Smitty, he'll look after you."

"I'll be sure to Ms! Thank ya!"

She turned on her heel giving Hazel the thumbs up before sprinting back up the way she'd come. She vaulted back over the railings, and hastily climbed back into the cab.

"Done and done." She said a little breathlessly, "It was Hazel, I like Hazel."

Sherlock nodded and judging by John's lack of questions he had been filled him in during her absence.

It didn't take them that long to get to the gallery and before either John or she followed him he stopped them. "No you two," he said, "I need you to find out about the dead man, ring Lestrade and he'll give you the address."

"Alright." Scarlett got back into the cab and rang Lestrade getting the address quickly so they could get on their way.

"Are you okay?" She looked next to her to find she was being studied by the doctor as the vehicle pulled away.

"Hmm, yeah, why wouldn't I be?" She asked him.

"Well, you know, after this morning…" He paused, unsure of what to say, "I mean… I know you bounced back quickly, but if you needed to talk…" He let the offer hang in the air and she just looked at him.

"Thank you, I appreciate it. I'll be fine. We just clash like that sometimes. I forgot that you've never been around to see it before. I guess that's what happens when a sociopath looks after an empath."

"A what?" John asked.

"An empath is someone who can understand someone's emotions practically to the letter. That's why I find it really hard to hate someone because I can always see the reasoning behind their actions. It's great for when I'm trying to work out alibies, especially murder ones."

"Right, okay."

"I usually don't let people know though; it makes it easier and yet harder at the same time, especially when we're on a case like this. I can't help think about these poor innocent people being targeted because of one man's boredom. Sherlock just doesn't understand that I can't just…He took me in, Sherlock I mean, just picked me up from school one day. He knew what I was going through... He taught me how to act like a sociopath, how to cover my emotions. But that's all it is. An act. He seemed to forget that I can't always just… " She sighed looking out of the cab window.

"Switch off." John finished.

"Exactly." She said, "God only knows what Afghanistan would have done to me." She looked at him expectantly.

"Oh no. We're not going there. The amount of stuff I saw… No, there's no need for you to hear what I went through."

"That's not what I meant. This…" She meant their life, "being with Sherlock, it reawakens your inner solider. And you can't deny it. I can read your emotions, read you. It might frustrate you sometimes but you enjoy this."

He looked at her stunned, "That's basically what Mycroft said the first time we met."

"Ah well then, I must be right." She smirked and returned her gaze to outside of the window.

A short while later they're out of the cab and entering the home of Alex Woodbridge. The women that let them in lead them to Alex's bedroom situated in the attic. It was messy and cramped with clothes he would never need again scattered over the carpet. She spotted a large object under a sheet near the window but chose to ignore it for the second.

"We'd been sharing about a year. Just sharing." The woman – Julie – told them.

"Mmm." John said looking around the room as well, he walked around a bit but left everything undisturbed.

"May we?" John asked Julie pointing to the large sheet covered object.

"Oh yeah, of course." She told them.

Scarlett stepped forward and lifted the sheet away letting it fall in a pile on the floor. She let out an impressed, "Wow…" At the telescope on a tripod that had been revealed to them.

"Stargazer, was he?" John asked conversationally as she fiddled with all the focuses and angles.

"Oh god, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time." She told them and Scarlett caught the sad twinge in the woman's voice as she turned away sadly. "He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him." Scarlett watched her as Julie gazed around the room.

"He was, er, never much of a one for hovering." She laughed to herself. They both smiled at her.

"What about art? Did he know anything about that?" Scarlett asked stepping back from the telescope back into the centre of the room.

Julie shook her head, "It was just a job, you know?"

"Yeah." They both said together.

"Has anyone been asking about Alex?" She asked casually as she looked over the contents of his bedside table.

"No," she said, "we did have a break in though."

"When was this?" John asked as she straightened herself up.

"Last night funnily enough. Nothing was taken mind. Oh – there was a message left for Alex on the landline." She tagged on only just remembering.

"Who was it from?" John asked.

"Well, I can play it for you if you like. I'll get the phone." Julie offered.

"Please, if you wouldn't mind."

She left the room briefly to fetch the phone and returned quickly pressing the play button; a woman's voice rang out, "Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when..." The line went dead and the message ended.

"Professor Cairns?" She didn't recall anyone with that name.

"No, no idea, sorry love." Julie said with a shake of her head.

"Mmm. Can we try and ring back?"

"Well, no good." Julie said sadly, "I mean, I've had other calls since – sympathy ones, you know?"

They both nodded and Julie left the room again just as Scarlett's phone trills a text alert. She got the phone out and looks at the message:

'RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS

Have you spoken to West's

fiancée yet?

Mycroft Holmes'

Scarlett grimaced and put the phone away again, "It's on my to-do list." She said.

"Sorry, what?" John asked looking perplexed.

"Nothing, just Mycroft getting on to me about those bloody plans." She said and John laughed in a huff.

"Actually, seeing as I think we're done here, do you…" She steeled herself, "Um, do you… would you mind coming with me?" She asked looking at him.

"No," John said with a smile, "no of course not."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

In Andrew West's flat Scarlett had sat herself down next to Westie's fiancée. Her mug of tea was on the coffee table in front of them, half full. John sat in an armchair close by.

"He wouldn't. He just wouldn't." Lucy insisted to them.

"Well," she said gently finally getting together the nerve to take Lucy's hand, "stranger things have happened." John nodded in agreement as he leant forward.

"Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say!" Lucy was obviously devastated by the idea.

"I know and I'm sorry," she reassured, "I don't think it, I never even met the man but you must understand that's..."

"That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?" She figured out what Scarlett was going to say.

"Unfortunately, yes…" She agreed with Lucy.

There was a pause in which she didn't know what to say so John took over for her and she smiled gratefully. "He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts..."

"Everyone's got debts," Lucy cut across him in tears, "and Westie wouldn't wanna clear them by selling out his country."

"We know this is hard Lucy, believe me, we do." She soothed the woman, "can you tell me exactly what happened that night?"

"We were having a night in, just watching a DVD." She said taking a new tissue to her eyes, she even smiled a little. "The idiot normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet." She dissolved into tears once more.

"And then, out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone. No warning at all."

"And there's no one who you think it could have been?" Scarlett asked gently. Lucy just shook her head for what must have been the millionth time during their visit, unable to speak through the tears.

Later, after Scarlett and John had calmed Lucy down somewhat she showed them to the front door. A cycle courier walked along the pavement towards the house, wheeling his pushbike.

"Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?" He asked Lucy who was at the door with them.

"Yeah." She said, although in Scarlett's opinion she sounded anything but.

"Who are these two?" He asked Lucy.

"Scarlett Holmes." She said stepping forward and taking his hand.

"John Watson. Hi." John did the same and shook the man's hand.

Lucy turned to herself and John, "Scarlett, John, this is my brother, Joe." She turned to her brother, Joe, "John and Scarlett are trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe."

Joe looked them both up and down, "You with the police?"

"Uh, sort of, yeah." John said. Again she was surprised, just how old did she look?

"Well, tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous." Joe said in a state of exasperation.

"We'll do our best." Scarlett reassured before turning back to Lucy as both Joe and his bike entered the house. "Well, thanks very much for your help Lucy; and again, we're very, very sorry about Westie." She said as she stepped down off of the concrete steps and her and John started to walk away.

Lucy called after them however, "He didn't steal those things, Ms Holmes."

Scarlett turned back to look at the young women, "I knew Westie. He was a good man." She began to cry again, "He was _my_ good man." She said in a self-reassuring voice before returning inside and shutting the door behind her.

They headed back to Baker Street in a cab in the dark and as they pulled up along the side of the road by the flat she spotted Hazel. She was waiting with a paper cup in hand, shaking it at passers-by calling for spare change. As she got out of the cab she spotted Sherlock in the doorway of Two-Two-One-B.

He walked toward her as she made a beeline for Hazel, "Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art." She heard John inform Sherlock as he too got out of the cab.

"And?" She heard Sherlock say as she reached Hazel.

"Any spare change, Ms. Holmes?" The girl asked.

"Don't mind if I do!" She said cheerily and Hazel slipped her a piece of paper, "Thanks kid. You get in touch with Smitty?"

"Yeah, we're gunna be sticking together for a while, Ms." Scarlett raised an eyebrow in suggestion and the pair giggled before Scarlett walked away.

"And?" Sherlock repeated growing impatient.

"And Mycroft drains me," She said walking towards Sherlock and John again while handing the paper over, "but then, you already knew that."

"That's it? No habits, hobbies, personality?" Sherlock sounded annoyed.

"No, she's winding you up, Sherlock. He was an amateur astronomer." John told him.

"Both of you, back in the cab, now." Sherlock said.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

The three of them were now walking in a side street in Vauxhall and she watched amused as Sherlock looked up at the stars dotted in the night sky. She preferred to keep her eyes on the path ahead watching the shadows.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sherlock asked them.

"I thought you didn't care about things like that." John told him.

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it." He replied logically.

Scarlett didn't bother to interrupt as they walk into the Arches, "Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat – a Professor Cairns?" John queried.

"This way." Sherlock told them and they turned right into a practical alley.

"Nice!" John said in a carrying whisper, "Nice part of town. Any time you wanna explain."

"The Homeless network really is indispensable." Sherlock said in way of explanation.

John took a flash light out from his pocket as did Sherlock and Scarlett, all three of them switching them on.

"Homeless network?" John asked and Scarlett realised they hadn't explained what the homeless network was yet.

"Our eyes and ears all over the city." She explained in a whisper.

"Oh, that's clever. So you scratch their backs and..."

"Yes, then we disinfect ourselves." Sherlock told him and she bit back a laugh.

Her flashlight depicted many homeless people settled for the night on the damp ground and as she moved her flash light she thought she saw a shadow move, "Sherlock!" She called out loudly.

"Come on!" He shouted and they were off running against a wall, watching an impossibly tall man straightening up.

"Golem's sleeping rough?" She asked in a whisper.

"Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag – much." Sherlock said to her.

"Oh shi…" She heard John start to say.

Sherlock pulled John's pistol from an inside pocket from his coat, "Don't mention it." Sherlock told him. At least John was protected.

The assassin known as The Golem broke into a run and hurried away down a tunnel. They all chased after him and reach the tunnel just in time to see him climbing into a waiting car which immediately sped off.

"No, no, no, no! It'll take us weeks to find him again!" Sherlock yelled in frustration.

"Or not. I have an idea where he might be going." John told Sherlock.

"Professor Cairns?" She asked the army doctor.

"Professor Cairns." John replied with a nod. It was a good feeling, having one up on Sherlock.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

Sherlock and John raced into the theatre through another door, making Scarlett stay out of the way at the back of the auditorium – which, she thought, was one of the most parental things Sherlock had ever done. John stopped, aiming his pistol for the assassin who was strangling the Professor as Sherlock yelled out.

"Golem!"

Over the rooms sound speakers she could hear the narration of the projection on the giant theatre screen, "…many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas." The voice was saying.

Scarlett gasped in horror as she watched the Golem snap Cairns' neck and drop her like a broken twig on the floor, as lifeless as a rag-doll. The images of the projections sped up as the Professor's body hit the mixing bored, fast forwarding the footage before it was cut off completely and the room was thrown into darkness.

"John!" Sherlock yelled.

"I can't see him. I'll go round. I'll go!" John shouted back.

"Scarlett, don't move!" Sherlock shouted out to her.

The projectors lights flickered on and off, throwing the room into darkness and occasionally a flood of light.

"Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?" Sherlock demanded into the darkness.

Suddenly from her position at the back of the theatre Scarlett was grabbed from behind, a massive hand clasping over her mouth and nose. She let out a terrified, if muffled scream as she kicked and thrashed against the giant assassin.

"Scarlett?!" She heard her uncle yell for her yet could do nothing but struggle in the massive man's grasp.

The room was suddenly thrown into a bought of light, she was being held in the middle of the theatre floor, Dzundza having obviously dragged her across the room. She didn't care though; her vision was going fussy from the lack of oxygen, "Golem!" She heard John shout.

She watched John cock his gun, saw a glimpse of what she thought was terror on Sherlock's face. No, not terror, her Uncle Sherlock didn't do scared. She didn't think she did until now, she whimpered from the effort of trying to get his hand away from her face.

"Let her go, or I will kill you." John said with a steady clam in his voice.

Her eyes begin to close of their own accord and just when she was ready to give up, the pressure around her mouth and nose were gone. The Golem throwing her away to his left in order to kick the gun out of John's grasp.

Scarlett staggered, unable to fully regain her balance, watching as Sherlock lunged for the huge man through streaming eyes whilst he attacked John. The last thing she remembered before passing out was the voice of the narrator saying over the chaos, "…long dead, exploded into supernovas."

Then everything went black.

* * *

**Hi,**

**Wow, look at that! I said I'd update tonight :) I don't think i missed any spelling errors, but it's late so, meh.**

**Thanks to LilliabellaMichelle for adding this to her favourites and to AshRain114 for following the story. I feel bad leaving a cliff hanger so I'll update tomorrow (or later today - as it's like 12:00am now). I only own Scarlett, not the show 'Sherlock'. This is part 3 of 4 to 'The Great Game'. Review and let me know what you think! :)**

**Thanks, **

**H.H**


	11. The Great Game - Part Four

The Great Game: Part Four

_She watched John cock his gun, saw a glimpse of what she thought was terror on Sherlock's face. No, not terror, her uncle Sherlock didn't do scared. She didn't think she did until now, she whimpered from the effort of trying to get his hand away from her face. _

"_Let her go, or I will kill you." John said with a steady clam in his voice. _

_Her eyes began to close of their own accord and just when she was ready to give up, the pressure around her mouth and nose were gone. The Golem threw her away to his left in order to kick the gun out of John's grasp._

_Scarlett staggered, unable to fully regain her balance, watching as Sherlock lunged for the huge man through streaming eyes as he attacked John. The last thing she remembered before passing out was the voice of the narrator saying over the chaos, "…long dead, exploded into supernovas." _

_Then everything went black._

* * *

"…I don't care about that, John! I just want to know if she'll be alright!" A frustrated voice made it to her ears along with feet moving back and forth rapidly on something soft. A carpet?

"Sherlock, I know you're worried but trust me, she's fine, just unconscious, that's all." Another voice filtered through her foggy mind. She felt a deep stirring within. She knew these two men, she was sure.

"No, no, something's wrong, she should have woken up by now, it's morning!" The first man said in frustrated protest. For some reason she could imagine this man tugging at his hair now while he walked back and forth, back and forth.

"Sherlock, you've been with her all night, you know she's been in and out for hours…" Had she? Out for hours? No, this was the first coherent thing she could remember and she was still confused about what was going on. So then maybe she had been in and out for hours.

Wasn't she related to the pacing man? Wasn't the second man a solider? A doctor? Both? No, no, not anymore. Just a doctor now. Wouldn't he look after her then? He must know what he was on about.

She didn't know. Didn't really care. Wait, no, of course she cared. What had happened? No, no, she didn't know that either. Oh well.

She took a breath in, but it burned her throat, she didn't know anything but she _knew_ that didn't feel right.

Her body seemed to agree and it threw her into a massive coughing fit. Her eyes flew open as her body convulsed in protest of the shallow, painful chocking sensation in her throat.

The motion was so strong she almost rolled off of whatever she was resting on. The couch, she realised as she came face-to-face with the flats living room. Well, the flat's living room carpet.

She decided to view the rest of the room, not just the carpet and there they were, the relative and the not army doctor. Both of them rushed toward her as she tried to sit up and almost landed on the floor for her efforts.

"Whaa…? Whoa!" She swayed unsteadily as the relative – Sherlock she finally registered – reached her and pushed her back into the couch cushions and tightened the blanket she only just realised she had on around her.

She studied Sherlock's face for a moment before finding her voice again, "W-what happened?" She coughed.

The not army doctor – John – knelt down to her left, "You don't remember?" Sherlock asked her and she refocused on him.

She shook her head and knew it was an instant mistake. She clutched it and groaned.

"Here. Drink this. But slowly. You have a slight concussion." John was offering her a glass of fizzing water. Dissolvable paracetamol tablets she realised.

She took the glass and had no trouble swallowing the liquid slowly as asked, it tasted horrible. When the glass was empty she handed it back to John before asking, "I can't remember – did we save the Professor?"

She looked at them both, taking their silence as a no.

"Bugger." She closed her eyes tightly. "Did you shot Golem?" She looked at John hopefully, "You said you would."

John shook his head, "I missed him when I eventually tried. And by then you were our priority."

"Well I shouldn't have been." She said looking at Sherlock, "There's some bloody bastard out there strapped up to explode in god knows how long. Worry about them, not me."

"Lestrade's already on his way to the gallery." Sherlock told her, "I needed to make sure you were okay before I left."

"Sentimental git." She muttered, "Hang on are you going now?" She asked Sherlock who was in the process of standing, "Yes."

"Then I'm coming too!" She said and she stood up shakily.

"Scarlett, did you not just hear me say you have a concussion?" John asked her, "You need to rest." He placed a hand on her arm to prevent her travelling to the front door. "I need to keep an eye on you."

"Come with us then Doctor Watson." She reasoned, he groaned in response obviously aware that she was on the fast road to recovery.

"Oh, I can see you already feel better." The doctor told her irritated but the relived smile on his face gave him away.

"What even is this?" She gestured towards the pink blanket she was wrapped in as she shuffled towards her coat and boots. She won't bother getting changed, there were more important things to be worrying about. Like who was going to explode next. Or whether she could find Golem and shoot him herself.

"It's a blanket." Sherlock stated.

"I got that thanks, what I meant was: why am I wearing it, genius?"

"You were in shock." Sherlock replied innocently though his smirk betrayed him. This was pay back for the incident in the back of the ambulance after the whole shot cabbie scenario.

She threw the blanket off of herself, steadying herself against the wall before pointing her finger at Sherlock and saying, "Screw you!" To which both of the boys only laughed.

-Break line- POV Change- Break line-

As amusing as Scarlett was when she finally woke up that morning he was glad to see she was on the mend. It was in his nature to care for her, she was his patient after all. John knew that given enough time the concussion would clear and she'd be back to her normal self. He put her swearing – an odd thing to hear from her, funny though it was – down to the concussion slowing her thought process and thus making her express herself in the easiest way possible.

She was becoming more coherent on the ride over to the Hickman Gallery although she had complained, when she looked out of the window, that the world was moving too fast. To which Sherlock had replied, "No, your brain is just moving to slow." She had laughed at that and the doctor found himself smiling.

Her condition increased ten-fold as she got out of the cab when they had reached the gallery. It was as though her brain knew she had a job to do and had suddenly started to rapidly pull itself together. She practically ran up the front steps to the entrance and John had to remind her once they were inside that the staff wouldn't appreciate her running around. She threw a passing security guard a glare then as though this one rule was all his fault and countered at the passing man's back, "They'll mind when they discover someone has been exploded in the news though, won't they?"

They finally reached the section of gallery that they needed and found Lestrade already waiting with some woman in a long black dress. "Well," He heard Scarlett say as she stood next to Lestrade, "this is awkward. The painting's a fake so I guess you won't be getting paid, Miss...?" John looked over to the watch the confrontation, worried that too much excitement might cause Scarlett more harm than good.

"Miss Wenceslas," The woman replied sharply, "and that painting has been subjected to every test known to science." She protested.

"It's a very good fake, then." Sherlock called loudly, still focused on the painting, phone in hand. He turned suddenly to face them all but looked directly at Miss Wenceslas, "You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?" He said in a demanding tone.

Miss Wenceslas, not having any of it, turned to Lestrade a look of exasperation on her painted face. "Inspector, I have been insulted and my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your _friends_ out?"

The pink phone began to ring and he watched as Sherlock snatched it from his pocket and answered it, switching it to loud speaker.

"The painting is a fake." Sherlock said with an air of finality. There was no response only light, uneven breathing.

"It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed." Sherlock said after a moment. Still there was nothing more than breathing.

"Oh, come on." Sherlock yelled, growing impatient. "Proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's the answer. That's why they were killed."

When the phone remained silent and John watched Sherlock take a deep breath to calm himself before asking, "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"

After a moment, the tremulous voice of a very young boy came over the phone's speaker. "Ten..." Instantly Sherlock spun and looked closely at the painting, clearly unconcerned that a child was wired to explode.

"It's a kid. Oh, God, it's a kid!" Lestrade said in shocked disgust.

"What did he say?" John found himself asking, sounding terrified.

"Ten." Scarlett said her eyes wide.

"Nine..." The little boy continued.

"It's a countdown." Sherlock said, back turned to them, scanning the painting. "He's giving me time."

"Jesus!" Lestrade cried looking around in helpless despair.

"How the hell do you prove that the painting is a fake?" John cried out to him.

"How? How?" Sherlock asked pacing.

"Eight..." The small boy continued.

Sherlock turned and glared at Miss Wenceslas, "This kid will die." He said menacingly, "Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!" He yelled.

Miss Wenceslas flinched and opened her mouth to answer but Sherlock immediately held up his hand to stop her. "No, shut up. Don't say anything. It only works if I – we – figure it out." He stopped in his tracks, realising what he had said. "WE! Of course!"

John watched as Sherlock turned to Scarlett suddenly and dragged her towards the painting, "Help me!"

John turned and walked away a few paces unable to stand the tension Lestrade joining him as the young boy called out, "Seven…"

-Break line- POV Change- Break line-

Scarlett found herself staring at the painting frantically as the little boy continued to count down to his own death.

"Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face." Sherlock muttered frantically.

"Oh!" She exclaimed as the thought hit her and she gripped Sherlock's arm, "Because it is!"

"Six..."

"Woodbridge knew, and the Professor because they were both into the solar system! We heard the answer last night when we were dealing with The Golem!" She cried waving her hands around his face as she whipped out her phone, an internet tab already open and waiting on 'The Science of Deduction.' She looked at the painting one more time; just to make sure she was indeed right. Sherlock followed her gaze and found what she had.

"OH! That's brilliant!" He cried.

"Five..."

"It's speeding up!" Lestrade cried desperately.

"Any time now, you two!" John said urgently as Scarlett typed furiously on her phone before hitting the submit button – thanking the heaven's she had a good signal.

"Four..."

"That is gorgeous!" Sherlock continued.

"Sherlock! The name! I need it!" She cried and he grabbed his phone to look online for the name she required. She was beginning to feel light headed again and she lost her footing slightly as he threw her the pink phone.

Thankfully Lestrade grabbed her arm, steadying her as the little boy said, "Three…"

"What's brilliant? What is?" John asked Sherlock frantically.

He ignored him, "I've got it!" Sherlock cried out in triumph. "This is beautiful. I love this!" He laughed.

"Really?!" She practically cried her voice merging with the young boy as he was forced to say, "Two…"

Sherlock shoved his phone in her face, reading the swirling words quickly she calmed down slightly as Sherlock yelled, "The Van Buren Supernova!"

There was a short pause. Then the boy's plaintive voice sounded from the speaker, "Please. Is somebody there?"

She sighed out a relieved breath, "Somebody please help me!" The young boy called out.

Scarlett handed the phone to Lestrade, "Use this," she told him as she tried to steady herself once again, her headache had returned, "to go and find him."

"Yeah, of course," He didn't let go of her arm, "John," he said to the doctor and his hand replaced Lestrade's as the detective left of her to get the child.

"The Van Buren Supernova," Sherlock said, "so-called." He held up his phone over his shoulder so that Miss Wenceslas could see the screen, not that she cared, "Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight."

He turned looking pleased with himself as she rubbed her temples, "So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?" She concluded with the rhetorical question. "Urgh…" she felt sick.

Her phone started to ring, she played with it without checking the caller I.D., "I think you were right John, I should have stayed in the flat." She said looking at him before swiping her finger across the screen and answering with a really loud, "What?!"

"Scarlett?" Mycroft asked surprised.

"Mycroft." She replied shortly. She was _NOT _in the mood for her uncle right now.

"I was just wondering how the missile case was going. My patience is wearing thin."

"Your patience is wearing thin?" She asked sarcastically, "I have a concussion from being practically suffocated last night. I can just about stand. I just saved a young boy's life. I'm sick of playing this stupid game. All I want to do I punch this stupid bomber git in the face! But don't worry; I'll put all of that on hold for you because your patience is wearing thin!"

"What?" Mycroft asked shocked down the phone. She went to continue her one-sided rant when her phone was pulled from her fingers.

"No more arguing with Mycroft for you." It was Sherlock. He looked over her head to John, "I'm going to The Yard. Can you take her back to the flat?"

"Yeah," John said as he kept an arm around her shoulder making sure she didn't fall, "of course."

They three of them called two separate cabs, one for Sherlock the other for John and herself, she got in and told the driver where to go before John could hear her.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

"This isn't the flat, Scarlett." John told her grumpily as they walked along the train tracks at Battersea.

"Well," she said, "it's flat."

"You should be resting, not doing anything." John told her as their high visibility jackets flapped in the wind.

"I can't rest until I know about these stupid missile plans, John. Not because of Mycroft's instance, but because of my own. My brain just won't stop until I've solved it." She told him as they caught up with a tub driver, "The best thing you can do is to help me figure it out quickly… stop texting Sherlock."

Even though her back was now to him as she walked a little ways a head she could practically see the look of shock on his face. "How did you…? never mind."

"So this is where West was found?" She asked the driver as she finally stopped in front of him.

"Yeah." He replied.

"Uh-huh." She said looking around at the gravel and tracks.

"You gonna be long?" The driver asked.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." John said finally reaching them.

"You with the police, then?" The driver asked them.

"Kind of, yeah, special division." John said. She watched as the driver gave her a sideward glance, "With a student liaison." John added noticing the driver looking at her, "Best not to ask."

"I hate 'em. Jumpers I mean." The driver was saying as she inspected the ground for any sort of damage. "People who chuck themselves in front of trains. Selfish bastards. It's all right for them. It's over in a split second – strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, hmm? They've gotta live with it, haven't they?"

"Yes," she said irritated, leaning down and running her finger along the track, "because I'm sure that's what they're thinking when they're about to end their lives."

"No blood." She continued, "Did you clean it off?"

"No." The driver replied ignoring her other comment, "There was hardly any to clean up."

"You said his head was smashed in." John said in surprise.

"Well, it was, but there wasn't much blood." The worker shrugged.

"Okay." John said she could tell from the sound of his voice that he was highly doubtful. The worker walked off down the line and she smiled as it all fell into place.

"He wasn't killed here." She called loudly over John's head.

"I knew you'd get there eventually. West wasn't killed here; that's why there was so little blood." Sherlock said arms crossed behind his back.

"How long have you been there?" John asked in surprise, "I mean, I knew I text you in the cab but that was fast."

"Since the start. I didn't take the case to spite Mycroft; I left it for Scarlett to take. I've just been keeping an eye on her progress. I always do."

"Between the two of you," she said to the pair of them, "you aren't half a mother hen."

She watched as Sherlock walked away, "What now? Do you even know where to go?" He asked over his shoulder, she knew he knew what she was going to say.

"Well, if my guardian will allow it, a bit of burglary. And of course I know where I'm going." She caught him smiling.

"What?!" John cried in exasperation.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

This was one of those rare occasions where they didn't get a cab because they didn't have to go very far, just a tube stop prior to the Battersea one. They walked up the street quickly Scarlett was starting to feel as though she had never had a concussion, well John did say it was only minor. Sherlock didn't say anything and she knew he wanted her to tell him how she had reached the conclusion herself.

"The missile defence plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it." Scarlett said as she kept looking at the buildings they passed, making sure not to miss the destination she wanted. She realised briefly that they were just passing the old building in which she and Sherlock lived prior to Baker Street.

"Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service." She told them as she tore her eyes away from the apartment building.

"Yeah, I know. I've met them." John huffed.

"So, I can only draw two conclusions. One: whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it, or two: they don't know what to do with it. And judging by what I've already seen I'm happy going with the latter."

She stopped, looking at a set of steps that were part of the maisonette they were in front of, "You have reached your destination." She mimicked the voice of a Tom-Tom as she walked quickly up the stairs.

"Where are we?" John asked as she bent down to the doors key hole and started to pick it with a bobby pin that she kept in her hair.

"Scarlett! What if there's someone in?" John asked urgently as Sherlock stayed quiet, observing her.

"There isn't." She paused, "And if there is, that's why I let you and Sherlock tag along." She said smiling sweetly as she looked over her shoulder and pushed open the door.

"Jesus!" She heard John exclaim, "She's a bad as you."

She heard Sherlock chuckle, "What did you expect?"

She ignored them and rushed up a flight of stairs aiming for the widow in what she supposed was the living room. She grinned liking what she saw, there was a building right next to this one but it was only one story high. This said building's roof stopped when it meet a wall, on the other side of this wall? Train tracks.

"Where are we?" John asked as he stepped into the room.

"Oh, sorry, didn't I say? Joe Harrison's flat." She said grinning from ear-to-ear as she turned back and caught Sherlock's expectant eye.

"Joe...?" John asked, clearly at a loss.

"You met him, Brother of West's fiancé?" Scarlett said jogging his memory. "He stole the memory stick; killed his future brother-in-law."

She leant down to the window sill to see bloody spots that had obviously been scrubbed at, obscuring them and ruining the varnished finish.

"Then why'd he do it?" John asked.

"Ask him yourself." She said simply as the front door opened bellow them, "Huh, he's home early."

She watched John leave the room to intercept Joe as he walked onto the landing, "Don't." She heard John say to the man and she looked at Sherlock who smirked at her, "Just don't." She heard him continue.

She stood opposite Joe a little while later while he's deflated onto the couch in despair, "It wasn't meant to..." He cried and she looked out of the window feeling bored.

"God." Joe continued as he rubbed his hand over his face, "What's Lucy gonna say? Jesus."

"Yeah," She said, "he's going to be no help to you."

"Why did you kill him?" John asked.

"It was an accident." He replied and she found herself snorting along with Sherlock.

"I swear," He pleaded looking between the three of them, "it was."

"But stealing the plans for the missile defence programme wasn't an accident, was it?" She asked sternly.

Joe sighed and started to talk, "I started dealing drugs. I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I dunno – I dunno how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands – serious people. Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job."

He paused obviously reliving it all, he even smiled a little, "I mean, usually he's so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune."

He sighed, "It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered." He looked at the three of them and started to nod, "But the next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew."

Joe looked guiltily up at her and then to Sherlock and John, "What happened?" Sherlock asked.

"I was gonna call an ambulance," Tears began to form in his eyes, "but it was too late. I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in 'ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking." She watched him as he started to pump his legs up and down nervously.

"When a neat little idea popped into your head." She said quietly. "To carry Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't met a stretch of track that curved."

"Or joined onto another track." John added.

"Exactly." Sherlock said.

She sighed, "Where is it Joe?" She asked quietly.

They watched as Joe stood up, walked into another room and went to get the memory stick, "Well done, Scarlett. With the distraction over the game can continue."

"Well, maybe that's over, too." John said hopefully. "We've heard nothing else from the bomber."

"Five pips, remember, John? It's a countdown. We've only had four." Sherlock said and she could hear a trace of excitement in his voice.

"The grand finale." She said as Joe walked back into the room with the memory stick in hand.

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

She woke up sometime later surprised to find herself in Sherlock's bed and even more surprised to see Milles walking towards her on the bed cover. It took her a while to register what had woken her but then she heard it, "No, no, no! Of course he's not the boy's father! Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!"

Sherlock was watching Jeremy Kyle again. She got up and stretched; careful not to disturb Miles to much as she did so. She could hear Sherlock and John talking in the living room as she picked up her partner in crime and walked into the sitting room with him before letting him roam free on the carpet.

She walked across the room to see John typing away on his lap top and Sherlock sitting in his arm chair in front of the telly. The dreaded pink iPhone of doom resting on the arm of the seat.

"What time is it?" She asked, she looked down at herself and saw that once again she lacked shoes and her coat but this time had the thankfully forgone the pink 'shock' blanket.

John looked up from what she could only guess was his blog, "Oh hey you're up! Um, eight-thirty."

"Eight-thirty?" She repeated.

John nodded at her, "Do you need anything?" He asked.

"No thanks, I was going to make something, pasta I think. You fancy anything?" She asked as she walked towards the kitchen.

"No, don't bother there's risotto left in the fridge." John said and smiled.

"Enough for the three of us?" She said doubtfully.

"Uh, no but I'm going out to meet Sarah so…" John tailed off.

"Ooo…" She teased, "Lucky girl. What about you Sherlock? Risotto?"

"Yes." He said his eyes glued to the screen.

She opened the fridge to get the dinner when she called out to them both, "We need milk!"

"I'll get it on my way back!" John said from the front door.

"Don't bother, I'll get it." There was a stunned pause from both her and John. She walked out of the kitchen eyes narrowed as she studied Sherlock.

"You alright?" She asked looking at him. He looked up at her, a picture of innocence, "Yes, of course."

"And beans then?" John queried.

"Mmm." Sherlock replied eyes fixed back on the telly. Scarlett and John looked at each other for a moment.

"If he gets any more helpful," John said pointing at Sherlock, "let me know."

"Yeah." She nodded and John was gone from the flat. She waited for the front door to shut downstairs before asking, "Alright, what was that about?"

Sherlock dropped the act instantly, "We have the missile plans."

"No," she said, "you gave the plans to Mycroft."

She closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief as Sherlock grinned, waving the memory stick at her.

"I'm going to kill you." She sighed, "And you know I'm one of the only people alive that could do it without leaving a trace of evidence."

"As nice as that sounds," He said as though her threat was a passing pleasant remark on the weather, "wouldn't you much rather meet Moriarty?"

She stopped, leaning against the door frame between the kitchen and living room. There was a pause where they just looked at each other, "When?" She asked simply.

"Tonight, midnight. At the pool where Carl died."

-Break line- Break line- Break line-

Disregarding entirely the fact that they had just broken into the building Scarlett let Sherlock open the doors leading to the indoor swimming pool. The lights were already on however there was no one but them. She looked up to see that the upper level above the pool where people watched other people swimming was in complete darkness. They both stopped on the edge of the shallow end of the pool trying to see into the darkness above them to no avail. Finally they stepped back a bit, Sherlock reaching into his suit pocket and retrieving the memory stick and held it aloft.

She had agreed to let Sherlock do most of the talking on the way over unless she was directly addressed. Moriarty seemed to know her already and she knew that caused Sherlock disquiet, not that he'd tell her that out loud.

"We brought you a little getting-to-know-you present." Sherlock said loudly when there was no reply he continued, "Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making us dance – all to distract us from this."

She looked around and turned back at the sound of a door being opened to the changing room about half way down the pools length. John was the one that walked out and Scarlett felt like she'd been slapped in the face and she knew Sherlock must be wearing a similar expression.

"Evening." John said stiffly.

Scarlett began to shake her head in disbelief. Not John. _No, not John._

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, kids?" He continued.

"John. What the hell...?" Sherlock asked in quiet shock.

"Bet you never saw this coming." Something was wrong, the way John was speaking didn't flow right, it sounded forced, not natural.

Sherlock finally started to move towards John slowly. The look of shock and bewilderment on his face make him look about twelve years old. Then, she noticed John's matching look of despair as he pulled his coat open to reveal the last bomb. A sniper's laser red dot placed perfectly in the middle of the device.

"What...would you like me...to make him say... next?" John said haltingly.

Sherlock continued to walk toward John, looking at everywhere but John to try and see who else was with them as she did the same.

John started to repeat whatever was being said into an earpiece he was wearing, "Gottle o' geer... gottle o' geer... gottle o' geer." She let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sigh covering her mouth with her hand as she heard John's voice break on the last phrase.

"Stop it." Sherlock said his arm out stretched towards John, "Scarlett…" Sherlock and John were both looking at her, "go."

"No." John said almost instantly although she hadn't moved an inch, she didn't think she possessed the ability to move any more. She watched John close his eyes tightly, clearly hating himself, "She has to stay to Sherlock… you brought her here…" John's voice cracked again, "…brought her here to die… now she has to stay."

Scarlett looked at John shaking her head and walked forward to come level with Sherlock's shoulder, "I promise, that won't happen John."

"Oh," he said, "I think… it might." Little red flashes made themselves dance in front of her vision and when she next looked down there was a sniper target right over her heart.

"No." Her voice strained as she looked at the red dot over her chest. She childishly attempted to wipe the glowing dot away with her hand even though she knew there was nothing she could do. She felt Sherlock's hand ghost over her trembling fingers and she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her uncle's quickened pulse against her own wrist.

Death didn't come to her though, only John's voice, "Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him." She opened her eyes again to look at him and sees him trying not to cringe as he listened to the next words. "Scarlett Holmes and John Watson I can stop them too. Stop their hearts."

Sherlock looked around the room but refused to move away from either of them, "Who are you?" He called out.

The door at the other end of the pool opened and she could hear footsteps walking their way as a voice called, "I gave you both my number. I thought you might call." A soft spoken Irish accent rang out plaintively.

The voice belonged to Jim, Molly's boyfriend. His casually-dressed Londoner appearance was gone now though. Instead he wore a grey suit, white shirt and tie, immaculate hair and a murderous look. He strolled casually along the side of the deep end of the pool, hands in pockets surveying the scene before him getting closer and closer towards the three of them. Sherlock moved his hand slightly and gripped her wrist.

"Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket...?" Moriarty began to ask, Sherlock removed the pistol from his trouser pocket, "...or are you just pleased to see me?"

Sherlock lifted the pistol to aim it at the man's chest, "Both." He said plainly.

Moriarty looked unconcerned about the gun pointed at his chest, "Jim Moriarty. Hi!" His eye's widened playfully.

Moriarty acted as if he needed to remind Sherlock of who he was, "Jim? Jim from the hospital?" He began to walk again and Sherlock kept the gun following his every move. "Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression?" He pretended to act disappointed, "But then," he continued after a pause, "I suppose, that was rather the point."

Scarlett pulled her wrist away from Sherlock's so he could use it to support the barrel of the gun. He didn't move to do so however, instead he just gripped her wrist once more. "Oh, now," He smiled widely and leant forward, "look at you two. You're very possessive, Sherlock. That," he said nodding towards their hands as he stopped, "is precious."

Sherlock looked at her and then to John, clearly confused, "Don't be silly. Other people are holding the rifles. I don't like getting my hands dirty." He said as he began to walk again stopping once more as he reached the pools corner.

"I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see..." He looked surprised, as if he has only just realised the connection. "...like you!"

"'Dear Jim." Sherlock started in a mocking tone, "please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?'" Moriarty started forward again, grinning at the reference to the old TV show. "'Dear Jim.'" Sherlock continued, "'please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?'"

The man stopped walking once more, "Just so." He said regally rocking on the balls of his heels.

"Consulting criminal." She heard Sherlock say softly, "Brilliant."

Moriarty smiled proudly at them, "Isn't it just? No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will."

"I did." Sherlock said and he cocked the pistol again.

"You've come the closest." He deliberated, "Now you're in my way."

"Thank you." Sherlock replied.

"I don't think he meant it as a complement." She whispered and Moriarty looked at her, mocking surprise on his face.

"She can speak! Oh good, I thought she was defective." He was shoulder to shoulder with John now and he kept on coming never dropping her gaze.

He stretched out his arm as he stood in the middle point of where they all were, opening and closing his hands, "Come here." She shook her head not wanting to leave Sherlock who still had the gun aimed at the man. He sighed exasperatedly, "Come here, or they die, simple really."

Not wanting anything to happen to either Sherlock or John she did as she was told, freeing herself from Sherlock's grip, and walked towards Moriarty, "That's a girl. Head up, head up. Let me look at you."

She tilted her head up slightly feeling like an animal being surveyed. He took her shoulders in his hands and forced them to spin together slowly in a circle. He stopped when they had turned a hundred and eighty degrees so she could now see Sherlock over Moriarty's shoulder.

"Well," He said, eyes wide as he looked her up and down, "the Holmes boys did a fine job on you didn't they?"

She didn't say anything just kept looking over his shoulder to Sherlock who never broke her gaze. "I mean," He continued, "you've got the brains, the beauty, everything really. Just what I always wanted for you."

She looked at him for the first time, "'Just what I always wanted for you'?"

"STORY TIME!" He yelled excitedly, jumping up and down like a small child, making her whole body shake before he finally stopped.

"I," he began looking at something over her shoulder that wasn't there, "had it all once, I had an ordinary life, brains and good looks… Oh wait no," he faltered and laughed, "No I still have those last two." To emphasis himself he stretched out his neck, parading his features.

"But then one day, that all got taken away. The day after… I killed my friend Carl actually." He frowned dramatically at her and allowed his eyes to become glazed over with false tears. "I was all alone and the only other family I had was taken away from me, placed into a care home for ten-year-olds and under." He choked out, "And I never saw her again. My baby sister. Gone. Poof. I was fourteen." He shook his head sadly.

She started to pull away, what did any of this have to do with her? Moriarty's grip tightened and she grimaced, Sherlock tensed. He took a deep cleansing breath and continued in a more up-beat tone, "Ten years later and I'm twenty-four and that whole criminal business is really going well and boy, do I have connections."

He shook his head in a sort of self-wonder. "So I start to track down that little sister of mine, she was the only thing that mattered. Vioeletta Moriarty. She was ten now, give or take a month or two. They changed her name legally of course. By then I was kind of famous! More amongst the government though, people like your Uncle Mycroft knew who I was!" He smiled brightly. "I guess they didn't want her to know me…"

She had a horrible feeling in her heart that caused her pain. A pain so real her throat began to constrict, because she thought she knew where this was going. Thought she finally understood why Moriarty had taken such an interest in her. Moriarty saw her stricken face and stroked her check, "Oh no-no-no-no-no. Don't be sad, it gets better because I found out what they had called her, do you want to know what she's called?"

His eyes were wide with a kind of excitement, but it wasn't the good kind that shone in Sherlock's when he was on a case, no this excitement was dark and twisted and it scared her. She shook her head, trying to pull any from him. "Of course you do! You want to know how the story ends, don't you?" He coaxed.

He paused, his smile becoming impossibly wide as though the story had the best ending in the world. "Her name… was Emilia Madisyn."

She wrenched her arm out of his grip and backed away, every inch of her skin crawling. She couldn't be related to him. She refused to be related to him. She belonged with Sherlock. Only ever with Sherlock. He was her family, all she ever needed.

"No! Shh, it's okay now, you see? You're all grown up, you can come with me and we can be together. You're smart you could do this job so easily it's almost laughable." He stretched his arms out towards her but she backed further away aiming for the wall to her left. She pressed herself against it, wanting nothing more than to vanish, to die.

To die as Scarlett Emilia Madisyn Holmes and to never have to admit that for a second she had been Vioeletta Moriarty, the younger sister of this psychopath.

"No…" Moriarty whined. "Don't be like that. Don't be like them." He gestured to Sherlock and then to John. "It's going to be fun, you and me!" He said in a bright reproachful tone.

"You call all this fun?" She demanded her eyes narrowing as she sneered, her skin stopped crawling and she stood away from the wall, standing her ground. "People have died!"

"That's what people DO!" He screamed the last word furiously at her, his personality changing in an instant. He sighed and started to walk again his clam demeanour returning to him, shoulders relaxed as he made his way towards John, "All-in-all Johnny-boy not the family reunion I wanted." He said with a heavy heaving sigh.

John said nothing only looked from Sherlock, to her and then back again, "Oh you can talk you know." Moriarty said sounding fed up. John refused to follow the command, merely deciding to nod.

Sherlock moved forward slightly and held out the memory stick towards Jim towards Moriarty, "Take it." He said his voice icy.

"Huh?" Moriarty sounded; he was busy brushing off John's shoulders, "Oh! That!" He strolled past John, ignored her and grinning took the memory stick. "The missile plans!" His eyes grew wide with wonder as he kissed the memory stick, "You worked hard to get those didn't you, kid?" He called looking right at her before throwing them in the pool, "Boring!" He sang out playfully.

He shook his head, "I could have got them anywhere." He said dully.

She gasped as John ran forward while Moriarty was distracted and grabbed him from behind pulling him to himself, throwing an arm around Moriarty's neck tightly and the other around his chest, constricting his movements. Her eyes widened and she stepped back in shock, bewildered by what John was offering to do.

"Sherlock, Scarlett, run!"

Moriarty just laughed in delight, his eyes wide with that horrible smile again, "Good! Very good!"

Sherlock didn't move, still aiming his gun at Moriarty's head but now she realised as she looked to him he was starting to look up a little anxiously, as if wondering what action the hidden sniper might take.

"If your snipers pull their triggers, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up." John growled savagely in Moriarty's ear.

"Isn't he sweet?" Moriarty calmly asked both she and Sherlock. "I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets."

John grimaced angrily and pulled Moriarty even tighter to him, leaving not much room at all between their bodies and the bomb. Moriarty just looked over his shoulder at John and scowled. "They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops!" He grinned briefly before looking between she and Sherlock, "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."

He began to chuckle again as John looked at her, then at Sherlock with a look of terror on his face, she looked down at her body and unable to see anything she could only assume that there was a sniper laser pointed at her forehead.

"Gotcha!" Moriarty said in that sing-song voice of his before laughing again. John reluctantly let go and staggered back holding his hand's in the air in surrender. Moriarty looked around before brushing down his suit, "Westwood!" He lowered his hands and stood calmly in front of Sherlock who was still aiming the pistol at his head.

"D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?" He asked casually.

Sherlock, sounding bored said, "Oh, let me guess: I get killed."

"Kill you?" Moriarty grimaced, "N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway someday. Destroying everything you care about in the process." Scarlett closed her eyes. That sounded like a threat for her benefit.

"I don't wanna rush it, though. I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you." She watched his expression as he ran his eyes briefly down Sherlock's body, then met his eyes again, his voice becoming vicious.

"I'll burn the heart out of you." His face was one of an animalistic snarl as he said the word 'heart' but by the end of the sentence he looked almost regretful.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one." Sherlock said softly.

"But," Moriarty said gesturing to both John and then her, "we both know that's not quite true." She looked at Sherlock's facial expression and it was enough to break her heart. Moriarty looked down, smiling at the floor before he shrugged.

"Well, I'd better be off." He nonchalantly looked around, checking his exit route, before turning back to Sherlock, then her. "Well, so nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock raised the pistol higher and extended it closer to Moriarty's head, "What if I was to shoot you now – right now?" He asked.

Moriarty, looking completely unperturbed on his part just shrugged, "Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face."

He opened his eyes and mouth wide, mimicking surprise, then grinned at Sherlock, "'Cause I'd be surprised, Sherlock; really I would." He screwed up his nose. "And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long."

He slowly turned his back to Sherlock, on her and John walking away towards the door that John had come through, "Ciao, Sherlock Holmes. Don't think this is over baby sister, I'll see you again."

He looked back at them all with some distaste as he walked calmly towards the side door that John came through earlier. Sherlock slowly stepped forward to keep him in his sights.

"Catch...you...later." Sherlock called out to him.

The door opens again and she could hear Moriarty's voice through it, high-pitched and in a sing-song tone, "No you won't!"

The door finally closed and after a couple of seconds she bolted towards John as Sherlock bent down and placed the gun on the floor before he too rushed over to join her and help her rip off the coat bomb John was wearing.

"All right?" Sherlock asked them both frantically.

John tilted his head back, breathing heavily while Scarlett shook profusely. Sherlock asked them again, this time more urgently, "Are you both all right?"

"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine." John said.

_Yeah, you're fine, John. You're only a walking, talking bomb!_

"Of course I'm alright." She said not looking at anything, only the coat that John wore.

_Yeah, you're fine. You only just found out you're related to the biggest psychopath going!_

Her fingers caught Sherlock's several times as she tried to clutch the jacket and rip it off while Sherlock began to rip open the front of the garment. Together they tore the coat off of the doctor and skimmed it across the tiled floor of the pool.

With the jacket a safe distance away she threw herself at John, clutching at his shoulders. She didn't know who she was comforting more him or her. "I'm okay," he reassured hugging her back, "I'm okay."

She pulled back and looked at him, the full idea of everything that had happened finally hitting him. He let out a small soft, "Jesus." His eyes widening.

Sherlock left them to retrieve the pistol he had dropped and ran towards the exit Moriarty had used, for a second she thought he was going to go after him, but it seemed he thought better of it. She watched as John's knees gave way, she caught him and walked them both backwards to rest on the first solid object she could find, which happened to be a changing cubicle.

"Oh, Christ." She heard him gasp; she swallowed unable to say anything in response. She rubbed John's back her eyes pricking slightly, her throat constricting as the doctor attempted to take deep, calming breaths.

She confided herself to watching Sherlock who was pacing up and down in front of them. Apparently he was so hyper that he didn't even realise that he was scratching his head with the business end of a loaded and cocked pistol.

"Are you okay?" She looked up and realised John was talking to her.

"Me, yeah fine. Just casually related to a psycho, you know?" Both Sherlock and John looked at her for a minute.

"What about you?" She asked Sherlock.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Fine." Sherlock said in quick fire concession, waving off her concern before he looked down at John with wide eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly, "That, er...thing that you, er, that you did; that, um..." Sherlock cleared his throat before continuing. "…you offered to do. That was, um... good."

"Yes. Amazing." Scarlett nodded in full agreement.

John just stared out blankly, "I'm glad no-one saw that." He said disregarding their thanks.

"Hmm?" Sherlock sounded confusedly.

John didn't look at him, "You, ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

Sherlock shrugged at that, "People do little else. It's Mycroft I'm worried about." He said looking down at her.

"Huh?" She asked.

"I lead you by the hand into a dangerous situation –"

"–Which you do all the time." She said.

"Faced you off with a bomber, sniper's and a psychopath, whom, by the way," He said in mocking enthusiasm, "you're related too!"

"Yeah I caught that bit."

"Not the model responsible adult. You'll be gone by Monday."

"Sherlock." She deadpanned before reasoning, "When have you ever been a responsible adult? And don't worry; you let me worry Mycroft."

The three of looked at each other of a second before they started to grin and giggle at the whole situation. She and John made to get up but she stopped when she saw a sniper's target on John's chest. He spotted it to and let out a sound of anguish.

The door at the end of the room, closer to the deep end of the pool opened and Moriarty strolled back on through clapping. "Sorry, kids! I'm soooooo changeable!" He called to them cheerily.

Sherlock kept his back to Moriarty, looking up into the gallery most likely to try and judge how many snipers there might be up there she realised. There were too many though as she turned and saw at least three targets on John's chest.

Moriarty laughed at their predicament and spread his arms wide, "It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness." He pointed to her, "You sister dear, are coming with me!"

He lowered his hands and put them in his pockets. Sherlock turned his head and looked down at John, who lifted his head to meet his gaze and then to her. They looked at each other for a long second.

_Don't let me go with him!_

_You're not going anywhere. _

"You can't be allowed to continue, boys." Moriarty continued, "You just can't. I would try to convince you but..." He laughed and his voice became sing-song once again. "...everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Sherlock looked down at her and John again for another second; seriously thinking about what he was about to do before he turned to face Moriarty, "Probably my answer has crossed yours."

He raised the pistol and aims it at him. Moriarty smiled confidently, no fear in his expression. Slowly Sherlock lowered the pistol downwards until it was pointing directly at the bomb jacket. All their eyes lock onto the jacket, John breathing heavily, Scarlett smiling ready for anything that wasn't going with Moriarty, Sherlock calm. Moriarty tilted his head, looking a little anxious for the first time she realised with a rush of adrenaline.

Sherlock held his hand steady, continuing to aim towards the jacket. Moriarty lifted his head and locked eyes with his Sherlock. She was sure he saw her uncle as his nemesis. Sherlock gazed back at him and causing Moriarty to smile and for Sherlock to narrow his eyes. Scarlett closed hers.

* * *

**Hello!**

**Well there you have it, the end of series one - although tomorrow I'll be publishing a mini episode that I wrote myself. So look out for that as I'll be giving information on the series two rewrite in the Author's Note. **

**I'd like to apologies to you, I'm not going to lie, I don't like this chapter. Something about it just seems...off. And no matter how many times I reworked it, I still wasn't happy. So sorry if you don't like it because I honestly don't think it's my best work. **

**If you don't know already: I don't own 'Sherlock' only the character Scarlett.**

**Thank you too: 1loveluffy for favourting and following this and too MisunderstoodSociopath for following as well, it really means a lot! **

**Until tomorrow night,**

**HH **


	12. The Other Holmes - Mini Episode

The Other Holmes - Mini Episode

She found herself in her quiet secluded corner that lunchtime. Just like she did every afternoon. She sat on the sunken window sill of the French set glass that over looked a massive green, well-kept lawn and winding gravel driveway, wide enough to hold two cars.

The cars that came up on the driveway were always shiny black Mercedes' or deep blue Rolls-Royce'. Whatever the model it was always immaculate, always had a driver, always held stuck up snobs both adult and child.

Sighing she crossed her ankles, her legs outstretched as she lent her head against the window, listening to Le Nozze Di Figaro, K. 492 Overture on her iPod. Her long brown hair hid the earphones from sight so the device wouldn't get confiscated.

At fourteen years old Scarlett Holmes felt like she always had: an outsider. The circumstances of her life may have changed: her place of residence, her family status, even her name, but she was still different. Still isolated. That was the way she liked it though. If she isolated herself then she gave her school peers – if she could really call them that – no reason to pick on her. That didn't stop them.

_The adopted freak. The charity case. The weirdo. The loner. Tin grin. (Although that one had stopped a month ago after she had her braces removed.)_

The taunts never really changed, they had been similar in the orphanage in which she had grown up. She had never gotten on with the other children, preferring to sit in a corner and solve maths problems rather than play dress up or pretend. By the time she was nine she frequently found herself in the company of care-workers if she needed conversation, not the people she should have called her friends.

People came, as they always did, to observe her as she worked in a note book in the corner. Form the outside she looked sweet, angelic even. However, once she was pulled away for an interview with the prospective couple they saw how odd she was. How unlike other children her age she preferred to read instead of watching telly, solve puzzles instead of running outside. By the time she was ten she had given up hope of being adopted, not that it bothered her that much anyway.

That was until just after she had turned ten. After a boring day at school she had been told to go straight to the interview room instead of her bedroom. So she did, she sat there waiting for whoever she was waiting for and half-an-hour later _he_ showed up.

Mycroft Holmes.

Now she was ten, despite her advanced level she didn't follow politics, she found them a waste of her time. All politician's promised things they couldn't truly deliver. Looking back now as she sat at the window still in her uniform, Mycroft was no different. Yet, it seemed like everyone else she had fallen for the Politician's lies all too easily.

-Flashback-

She sat there ankles crossed, waiting for her 'special' visitor. She never got visitors and unlike most of the other kids in the place, she had never entertained the idea that her parents might swoop in and save her one day, apologising and telling her how her abandonment was all one big mistake.

Not that she paid much attention to the other kids anyway, already at ten she was too smart for them to handle. She looked around the room they had placed her in. Small and cramped but well looked after; it reminded her of a waiting room. She supposed right then that that was exactly what it was.

The door opened and her attention immediately shifted to the man in the doorway. He was tall, wore an expensive suit and had fair reseeding hair, with an umbrella – of all things – under his arm. She kept his gaze while he walked over and sat down opposite her, not even bothering to introduce himself.

"Good afternoon. Good day at school?"

She wondered why this man was even bothering to talk to her, he looked far too important to waste his time on a child, not that that's what she considered herself to be. Still she humoured him with an answer, "It was dull. They never teach anything new, it's never a challenge."

He considered her for a second, eyebrows raised before saying, "Is that what you like? To be challenged?"

She nodded the once.

"I know someone like you; he likes to be challenged too. He's a lot older than you though, twenty-four."

"Is he good?" She asked.

"He likes to think he is. So how about it, Miss Madisyn?"

She didn't ask how he knew her name, there was no point, obviously the institution had told him, "How about what, sir?"

"Come with me and your life will be turned into one big challenge. A puzzle. A game. You're better than the life that has already been planned out for you."

She looked at him for a second, unable to fathom his end game, "Okay."

_What did she really have to lose?_

"Excellent." He said curtly. "You can't be called 'Emilia Madisyn' anymore. I must change it for you legally. I'll let you pick out the name, not the surname, that's already been taken care of."

"My name is all I have, sir."

"If you do this, you'll have much more than a name, I promise you." He replied cryptically.

She silently deliberated his proposal, her name was the only thing that was truly hers in this place, the one thing people couldn't change or touch, "Fine," she said after a moment's pause, "I'll compromise."

The man raised his eyebrow, "Oh?"

"Yes," She raised one of her own eyebrows, returning the man's challenge, "I'll become Emilia Madisyn… Scarlett legally, but you only have to address me as Scarlett."

"Very well, we'll leave at once." He said as he stood up, stretching out his arm and gesturing to the door, "Welcome to the world Emilia Madisyn Scarlett Holmes."

-Present-

And here she was, four years after that conversation, sat on the window sill of a private school she hated to the hilt. She was barely – if ever – challenged in the classroom and was the centre of social humiliation at the hands of her peers.

To make matters worse she rarely saw Mycroft who preferred to talk to the teachers and other staff about her well-being directly. She only saw him around four times a year, five if she was lucky, though he always sent her things. Expensive clothes she knew he didn't pick. The latest electronic devices. Promises of her glittering future career in politics.

The only thing that kept her going was Sherlock, Mycroft's younger brother. She had never met him in person. They knew each other existed of course. She first found out about him through Mycroft's mother, a kind hearted woman that she could comfortably address as grandmother. For some unknown reason the brother's rarely got on, preferring to ignore each other unless it was absolutely vital that they must acknowledge one another.

Sherlock, she knew, was the only Consulting Detective in the world, he had invented the job. Now at twenty-eight he lived in London solving crimes that Scotland Yard couldn't. She tried to follow his cases as closely as possible. Apart from the window sill she was currently sat on he was her only escape.

She'd give anything to meet him.

Scarlett sighed as the bell rang out, blocking out the soothing sounds of her music. She glared up at the closest fire bell accusingly. Last lesson started in ten minutes. She wouldn't mind but it wasn't like she could leave after it was over, she'd be escorted to the boarding house for the weekend. Surrounded by girls that couldn't stand her and girls she couldn't stand in return. She hissed at the very idea of it.

Hauling her bag over her shoulder she headed to chemistry reluctantly, knowing that the girls' would only want to pair up with her so she could do their work as well as her own. She smirked despite herself; she really should start charging for her services.

They were looking at the efficiency of different pharmaceutical drugs today through the use of titration and purification. The goggle glasses suited her, she thought as she poured the hydrochloric acid into the burette using a miniature funnel. She ground her teeth together as her 'partner' stood there squealing at the fact that the acid could hit her shoes. Scarlett really wished it would.

At the end of the lesson she took her notes, packed her bag and walked quickly from the lab hoping for a quick get away from her study buddy. She was doing well until she hit the main reception and came to stop at the main desk, "Miss Holmes!"

She turned to look at the young receptionist who was leaning forward to grab her attention. She walked back the way she had come as she spotted her lab partner stalking towards her, looking livid.

"Yes, what is it?" She asked the receptionist quickly, hoping to avoid a confrontation with the girl heading her way.

"Don't bother heading for the house, Mr Holmes is here to see you. He's in room 361." The receptionist said with a warm smile, her blonde hair slipping past her shoulder as she flicked it.

"Right, okay. Thank you!" She replied hastily as her lab partner got closer. She turned and ran back through the double doors, this time heading down the left corridor instead of coming from the right.

"Oi, charity case!" She looked over her shoulder as she rushed down the corridor and towards the staircase, aiming to reach the third floor before she got a beating. "Oi, Holmes, I'm talking to you!" She heard the sneer from behind her.

Thankfully this particular bully lacked the physical stamina for running due to her large frame. Scarlett hit the stairs deciding to take two at a time; she was up on the first floor by the time the other girl had reached the bottom of the stairs on the ground floor.

Scarlett smirked as she sped up with ease; she reached the top of the second floor and could hear the other girl wheezing hard. The girl was cursing faintly by the time Scarlett had reached the third level. Now out of sight and with another two floors to the building the other girl had no chance of knowing where she was.

She straightened herself out as she headed through a set of heavy set doors depicting the start of the music department. Room 361 was at the end of the corridor and was a room that was hardly used. She reached the green door and knocked, "Mr Holmes? It's me, Scarlett."

She opened the door when she got no reply, "Mr Holmes?"

Scarlett took a step into the room, the light was already on and there was indeed a man standing there waiting by the window. It wasn't Mr Holmes. Well, not Mycroft at least.

"Please Scarlett, call me Sherlock."

She stood wide-eyed, "Sherlock Holmes?"

"That's right, yes." He replied. He was just like the pictures, the ones grandma had shown her. Dressed in a sharp black suit, wearing a blue dress shirt but thankfully lacking a tie, the first few buttons were undone revealing his neck. His hair had a short, curly nature and was a dark brown in colour. His cheek bones were sharper than she had imagined, his pale skin highlighted his slate blue eyes.

"Nice to finally meet you." She said, her head tilted slightly, she smiled a little as she kept looking at him.

"And you." He said with a nod, he seemed to be observing her too. "Do you know why I'm here?" he asked her after a moment.

"No, sorry." She shook her head as she finally had the sense to slip her school bag onto a vacant desk pushed up against the wall.

"I'm posing as Mycroft." He replied simply as though it was an everyday occurrence.

"Oh," She said, "And he won't mind?"

"Since when does he really pay attention?" Sherlock reasoned to her as he leant against the sill of the small window behind him.

"Not since I've known him, that's for sure." She told him truthfully. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth quickly, "My apologies," She told him. "He's your brother, I shouldn't…"

"No," Sherlock said with a smirk, "You're quite right, he's a moron." She laughed slightly and looked again at the older man before her. He bore next to no physical characteristics to Mycroft and if she hadn't had known he was Sherlock she wouldn't have connected the two at all.

"If I may," She began as she leant her back against the nearest wall, "Why are you here, Mr Hol-_Uncle_ Sherlock? Why bother imposing as Mycroft?"

She noticed him twitch as she called him 'uncle'. She guessed that he didn't like to be associated with authority. She bit the inside of her cheek slightly making a mental note not to do that again.

"You've got A*'s across the board." Sherlock said casually as he picked up a file beside him on the sill of the window. "The perfect student on paper and yet the students and even some teachers can't stand you."

"Y-you've been talking to them?" She asked quietly.

"No," He confessed, "I gather you know what I do?"

"Of course, you're the world's only Consulting Detective." She replied instantly.

"Then you know I didn't need to talk to them, just one mention of your name to several staff members and the odd student told me everything I needed to know. That and you ran up here away from that charming young lady from chemistry class."

She'd been looking down at the floor as he spoke, her hair hiding her face. Looking up once he had finished she met his piercing eyes, "They hate it because I'm clever. I can see things, connect the dots. It's as easy as breathing for me, second nature. They thought it was cool at first the teachers, the students. But then…"

"They realised you weren't trying to impress them. They knew that it wasn't an act. That you were like that all the time." Sherlock finished.

"Yes. It got even worse though. I-I can read people's emotions. See the motive for their action, see what drives them. So I can't hate them. I never used to rise to anything they said, when they called me a freak, a charity case. I forgave them because I understood that their emotions were driving them to vent, even if they didn't know that themselves."

She sighed and looked at him with a grimace on her face, "I tried explaining that to one of the girls once. Her emotions were particularly strong, ones that we come to associate with grief. No one had died though; she was grieving for the living." She laughed without humour before continuing darkly.

"I'd figured out that her parents were getting a divorce. I told her I knew and so I forgave her for the way she was acting towards me. She called me a liar, said that I couldn't possibly have guessed that because she hadn't even told her friends. I told her I didn't guess, that I read her, I observed."

She flinched slightly, "The next thing I know an hour later, I'm waking up in the nurse's office with a black eye, being reprimanded by the headmistress. Apparently I was being, in her own words, 'too smart for my own good'."

To her surprise Sherlock smirked, "At which point you told her that you weren't being too smart. That the rest of the world was just too stupid." She bit her bottom lip and snorted slightly. "I would have done the same thing given the same situation." He nodded in reassurance.

"Yeah?" She asked him.

He paused before he relented, "In fact I have, many a time."

"I wouldn't mind seeing you giving someone an earful."

"Who says you won't?" He questioned.

She shook her head lightly, "Chance would be a fine thing. You live in London; I'm on the outskirts of Oxford. Stuck in this god awful place." She gestured around to room.

"You don't have to be stuck here if you don't want to be." He informed her.

"Clearly you're unaware of the contract Mycroft made me sign." She clicked her tongue in frustration. "'Come with me, Scarlett. Your life will be one big puzzle, a game.' That's what he told me. So far the only puzzle I've encountered is how on earth I've managed to survive here this long."

"You mean this contract?" Sherlock asked innocently eyebrows raised as he held up a cream paper file containing ivory paper tucked inside, she could see two signatures, her own and Mycroft's.

"How did you-?"

"The contract that states," He continued, "That as long as Mycroft is your guardian you must attend private education up until your eighteenth birthday. At which point you must occupy a position in the home office. That contract?"

"Yes that contract!" She cried waving at it frantically. "Do you know what they do? The Home office lot? Nothing, that's what, I'd be a secretary, Sherlock! And Mycroft seems to think that this would be a 'glittering career in government'."

She noticed how she said his name without having to think about it, he seemed to have noticed it too. They had only just met and yet she felt completely comfortable with him. He seemed to know her as well as she knew herself.

"So," Sherlock said as he drew a breath, "Back to the matter at hand. I am here, as I said, posing as Mycroft because as far as I'm aware from this moment on - and I hope I never have to say this again – I am Mycroft."

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in disbelief as Sherlock ripped up the contract, file holder and all. "Legal custody of you was given to me as of this morning. I would have been here sooner but I was finishing a case."

"You're my custodial? My legal guardian?" She blinked rapidly processing the information. She was in shock; this had not been what she was expecting of the day when she woke this morning.

"That's correct. And as your guardian for your own safety I'm pulling you out of private education. Effective immediately."

"Sherlock, I think this is the start of something beautiful." She smiled, a face splitting, ear-to-ear grin that revealed her newly straight teeth.

"I think so, yes." He agreed with a smirk as he walked across the room and opened the door, "Come along, Scarlett. We have work to do."

Scarlett had never left a room so fast in her life.

-Break Line - Break Line - Break Line -

Sherlock, it turned out, lived in a block of flats near Battersea. It was small, cramped and mismatched and she loved it. There was a main bedroom and a box room. Sherlock had told her she could take the main bedroom if she wished. She had stubbornly declined the offer, insisting that the box room would be perfect.

A day didn't go by when she wasn't doing something that truly intrigued her. She'd watch Sherlock do experiments at the kitchen table, whilst she herself would busily make different compounds from the acids, alkali's and bases Sherlock had readily available. She'd catch him looking at her every now and again and he would quickly avert his eyes, returning to his experiment or his violin.

She loved to hear him play, he did so beautifully well. He'd play the most when he was working and there was rarely a night when she didn't go to bed with the sound of the soft strings drifting under her bedroom door.

One day she had finished her home schooling and Sherlock had left briefly to go and talk to a man he called 'Lestrade'. She walked over to where he kept the instrument nestled snuggly in its case. She stroked its neck softly, scared of scratching it's perfectly polished surface. Before she knew it the violin was in her hand and resting under her chin whilst her other hand clasped the bow.

Sherlock could be so fast with the thing that it astounded her, and when she had asked him how he played so well he had just told her, "Well, it's like riding a bike. Once you learn it you don't forget it." She had researched playing the violin that night and was astounded to learn that for some pieces you were required to use seven fingers. She made sure to quickly memorise what the notes were and where she'd find them on the violin.

"It can't be that hard." She mumbled to herself.

She held down a few strings at different points and brought the bow across them swiftly. Her reward was an ear splitting screech which made her cringe, "Okay. It's fine, you're just starting."

She removed the violin body from under her chin and clasped the bow and neck in the same hand as she got out a piece of folded paper from the pocket of her jeans. She unfolded it and placed it on the music sheet stand. 'Au Clair Du la Lune' stared up at her judgmentally as though criticizing her silence. She started with the three three-quarter G's as instructed by the sheet before moving quickly up on the string to the A.

It didn't sound too bad.

An hour and a half later and she had managed to get through the amount of 'Clair Da la Lune' that was on the paper. It was by no means perfect, she sped up and slowed down in all the wrong places and on the odd occasion she dropped notes. The tune itself was recognisable, it must have been at least because Sherlock called from behind her, "Could be worse."

She spun on the spot, caught in the act, his violin still tucked under her chin the bow hovering over the strings. "S-Sherlock! I wasn't expecting you home yet. I'll just…" She cringed guiltily as she lowered the instrument and went to place it back in its home.

"Oh, by no means stop on my account." He said as he pulled away from the living room door frame and moved towards the kitchen door, "I want to hear that piece played perfectly by the end of the evening." He called as she heard him open the fridge.

"Or what?" She called cheekily.

"Or I won't give you any more of my case files to read."

"Yes, Sir!" She mock saluted even though he was in the other room and couldn't see her.

-Flash Forward-

Two months after she picked up his violin for the first time he took her to meet Detective Inspector Lestrade. Not that he knew that she was coming. Sherlock just sort of brought her with him into Lestrade's office one day.

The man had looked shocked when she walked through the door and stood awkwardly against the wall, "Who's this?" He had asked, confused as to why a teenager had been allowed to walk into his office.

"My niece, Scarlett." Sherlock told him briefly, "Now, about those case files…" He said eager to get what he needed.

"Wow, a _niece_?" She waved slightly at the D.I. "You were serious about that? I mean you," he said pointing at Sherlock, "You actually look after someone?"

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly.

-Flash Forward-

"I think you're ready, get your coat." Sherlock told her as he texted someone, presumably Lestrade.

"Really?" She asked from her spot at the kitchen table. Sherlock had been talking about letting her in on a case for a while now. Increasingly often over the past six months she found herself asking him questions about cases he was working on. She'd help him pin everything to walls, sit there with him and try to work pieces of the puzzle out for himself.

"Yes, now come on. This guy, Angelo, he's been charged of triple murder only –"

"–Only, you don't think he did it, something doesn't add up."

"Exactly, now let's go."

A week later and Angelo was off of the triple murder charge. His initial alibi was that he had been housebreaking at the time of the murders. This was proved to be true by Sherlock. Although it had been her that reminded him that Angelo must have been trying to break into the house because his trainers didn't match the make that were found at the crime scene. Even if he wasn't house breaking Angelo didn't own those shoes and plus, Angelo had graciously handed over to them the instruments he had used to break into the house. They managed to prove that the damage to the doors lock had been made by said instruments.

So instead of a triple life sentence he was only going to prison for three months. Whilst Sherlock and Scarlett stood there watching Angelo get into the police car the man promised them that they could eat at his restaurant whenever they wanted and that they'd find it at Northumberland Street if they were ever passing by. They had smiled and nodded and said they'd visit him once he was out.

"First case done, how do you feel?" Sherlock asked looking down at her.

"Like I could do it again." She told him; loving the feeling she was getting from helping solve a case.

"Good, because you will."

-Flash forward-

She had been living with Sherlock for just under two years when she finally turned sixteen. She didn't remind him that it was her birthday; she didn't want a fuss made. She'd never celebrated her birthday whilst in care, whilst in Mycroft's charge and she wasn't going to start now she was with Sherlock. That wasn't to say that people didn't bother with her. Sherlock's parents and Mycroft had sent her home made sweets and a beige coat retrospectively. Lestrade had even given her a card which she was really touched by.

When she finished her school work for the day she deliberated whether to tell Sherlock that she felt ready to take her G.C.S.E's now instead of in a few months. She thought it couldn't hurt to brooch the topic as she didn't think he was on a case.

She walked out of her room and down the corridor to the living room and found Sherlock sitting at the desk. "Hey, Sherlock." She said in way of a greeting, "My Physics is done."

"Dull." The now thirty year old said not looking up from his decryption work.

"I thought you might say that." She said with a smile, "Actually I do need to talk to you about my G.C.S.E's. I was –"

"Later." He told her looking up, "You're doing fine anyway. There's a box on the table for you."

He pointed to the side table that was a few metres away from his desk. Deciding to drop the discussion for now, Scarlett walked over to the table and took the long rectangular black box.

All he said as he looked back down at his work was, "Happy sixteenth birthday, Scarlett."

"You didn't have to get me anything you know." She said, she picked up the box gratefully anyway and pulled off the lid. It slid off slowly as it was fitted tightly to the box. When it was off she placed it down on the table and beheld a distinctive purple velvet case within the box waiting to be popped open.

"Oh my god!" Still holding the box Scarlett knelt on the carpet floor, lifting the case from its box carefully before placing it down on the floor at her knees and popping the stiff clasps at either end.

She got her fingers underneath the unclasped lid and pushed it up onto its hinges to reveal a beautiful black, perfectly polished violin. She took it out of its cushioned confides fingers trembling, scared to expose the marvellous instrument to the outside elements. The bow rolled to the centre of the case no longer being held to the side by the violin, she picked it up with her other hand. Scarlett stretched out her arms as she still knelt on the carpet and just beheld both pieces for the longest moment.

"Sherlock, I –" She began and her voice came out in nothing more than a whisper.

"You've more than earned it; you can play just as well as I can now." He said and she looked away from the instrument that she could call hers and found that Sherlock still hadn't looked away from his work. She smiled fondly.

-Flash Forward-

It was now coming up to the three year anniversary of the day Sherlock took Scarlett in and she had to say, as much as she was enjoying herself, she wasn't half getting annoyed by their nasty landlord. He was nothing short of a chave, he wore a track suit and always smelled of grease and smoke.

The bottom line: He didn't like Sherlock – and by extension, Scarlett – and they didn't like him. Sherlock had taken to looking at flats in their spare time.

"That problem we were having, about finding a suitable flat?" Sherlock said one day whilst they were both in the living room, Scarlett was unpinning his latest case wall whilst he sat there still identifying his types of tobacco ash –he was up to 158 thus far.

"Yeah, do you think you've found somewhere?" She asked stepping down briefly from the stool she was stood on in order to reach the higher pieces of information that needed unpinning.

"There's a woman, Mrs Hudson, she's called. She's thinking about renting out an apartment… In Baker Street."

"In Baker Street?!" Scarlett found herself crying, "That's right in the centre of London, there's no way you could afford that, Sherlock! We'll find somewhere else I'm sure." She reassured him.

"I can afford it though, nearly anyway… Mrs Hudson owes me a favour."

"Oh?" She asked, resting the newspaper clippings she held in her hand on the small side table beside her.

"I guaranteed her husband's death over in America a few years ago. She's–"

"Why am I not surprised?" She smirked interrupting him, her eyebrows raised.

"–knocking down the price of the rent as a result." Sherlock continued, "But she has to get rid of the other tenants first so we could still be here for anything up to three months. Or until I can find a flat share."

"Then we'll wait. You'll get there, Sherlock." She nodded. "There has to be someone that isn't irritated by what you can do, excluding me of course."

He looked up at her from the microscope that sat on the kitchen table, "Scarlett, who in their right mind would want to share a flat with me?"

She thought about it for a moment, "A man of action. An adrenaline junkie… An addict, looking for their next fix. That's who'd share a flat with you, Sherlock."

-Present Day-

Scarlett laid haphazardly across one of the armchairs in Baker Street waiting for Sherlock and John to return from whatever they were doing. She had a mental image of Sherlock talking about something supercilious and complicated whilst John looked as though he wanted to bash his head into a wall.

She chuckled to herself, got up and stretched. She walked over to the bookcase by the fire and knelt down to retrieve the case between the two. Popping the clasp to remove her pride and joy and, propping it under her chin, she walked into the space in front of the window where Sherlock usually played and composed.

There was no title for the piece she played, it was her own and it was completely spur of the moment spontaneous, just the way she liked it. Like all those years ago, so concentrated on the violin was she that she didn't realise that the boys had returned and that they were listening contentedly at the front door.

She turned and spotted them finally after a moment, Sherlock with a look of approval on his face and John wearing an expression of pleasant surprise. "I didn't know you played." John told her after a second.

"Well, I can thank Sherlock for that." She said looking at John before her eyes cut away to Sherlock himself, "In fact I can thank Sherlock for a lot of things."

* * *

**Pftt, remember when I said 'See you tomorrow night.' In the last chapter? **

**I'm Sooooooo sorry. I've left home and I'm now at uni, I have been for a couple of weeks and I was trying desperately to get my head on straight. Uni is no joke! The good news is that I have the first section of 'A Scandal in Belgravia' finished and that's going up today. **

**So if you're still with me, hop on over to 'The Other Holmes: Series Two' and start stalking that story too! **

**Thank you to all that have followed, favourited and commented, it means a lot.**

**See you over at the next instalment,**

**HH **


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